


A Man in Need

by CollingwoodGirl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 83,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Epilogue to S2 E12 </p><p>Jack and Phryne are left reeling from their last encounter. This is an exploration of how they are each coping with the disappointment. </p><p>Will they find their way to each other?</p><p>Multi-chapter and their evolving attachment.<br/>Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to sound ridiculous but, when I first began to write this, I had not even seen all of Season 2 yet.
> 
> What pushed me to write this was a post on Tumblr stating that Jack and Phryne would never consummate their relationship. I was totally unnerved by the idea. Hopefully, this is just the beginning and can continue on for multiple chapters. I'll do my best. Constructive criticism is welcome.

An odd awkwardness blanketed the household. No one could quite put their finger on the reason they were all walking on eggshells around Miss Fisher. There was always plenty of work to do and she dealt with her staff in her usual kind manner but, there was a wistfulness that belied her smiles. Dot noticed that she had taken no pleasure in her morning pot of French press for several days. “Everything alright, miss?”

“Fine, Dot. Just tired,” came the practiced response. Phryne tried to convey how much she appreciated Dot’s concern with her expression but, she wasn’t ready to confide the truth in anyone just yet.

Phryne was tired. _No, not tired_ , she thought. _Listless_. She hated admitting it to herself. In the past, she found escape in embracing frivolity. And, she attempted it again. She had attended an art auction where she admired the works but was unmoved by anything in particular - not even the Archipenko bronze, for which she thought she surely ought to have an affinity. There was the charity dinner she helped organize on behalf of the Warleigh Grammar Board. She even booked an appointment at Madame Fleuri’s salon, but found no sartorial inspiration in any of the sketches. All of this distraction ought to have taken her mind off things.

 _Damn him!_ she finally acknowledged as she sank her head under the bath water.

Dot resolved to care for Miss Fisher through her service and drew her hot baths with extra foam and lavender oil. She took extra care with her mending, salvaging a pair of stockings that seemed well beyond repair. As a special present, Dot purchased some silk thread in Miss Fisher’s favorite spring green and sat for hours embroidering a beautiful floral design on a new handkerchief. She laid it out on the bed next to Miss Phryne’s pant suit and returned to the kitchen.

“Hugh!” she gasped. Hugh Collins stood in the kitchen, a cup of steaming tea in one hand, a scone in the other. He had popped in to see Dot before his shift.

“Morning, Dottie!” He kissed her cheek and she blushed as Mr. Butler concentrated his attention on the cooker. “I’m afraid I’ve got to cancel our date tonight,” he apologized, “The Inspector’s booked me a double. But, I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s alright,” she said as she pressed her hands on his shoulders, smoothing his uniform. _The Inspector_ … she wondered. “Um, how is the Inspector?” she began, innocently. Mr. Butler threw a raised eyebrow at her and she dismissed it with a flash of side eye.

Hugh looked at her blankly for a moment. “Well," Dot simpered, "It's just that… He usually comes by… Must be busy with a big case. And, to have you working a double shift and all.”

Hugh was looking between Dot and Mr. Butler, who had turned to face them, eager to hear Hugh’s response. “Ah. He’s fine. I-I. um. Spending a lot of time at the Station, I guess.” He looked quizzically at Mr. Butler, who seemed to know there was much more to it than Hugh was letting on. “H-has a lot on his m-mind, I suppose.” He composed himself under Mr. Butler’s gaze and redirected himself to his girl, “Well, um, Dottie. I’d better get on. Don’t want to be late. Thanks for the tea, Mr. Butler. Good day!”

With another quick peck on the cheek, Hugh was off - knowing full well he should not disclose where he had been to his boss, considering the Inspector's current attitude.

 

XXXXXX

 

“But sir! I’m taking Dot to the pictures. I already have the tickets.”

“I’m sorry, Collins. But, police business takes priority over your love life. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Detective Inspector Jack Robinson knew he’d been hard on his young constable. _It’s better he find out now_ , he thought ruefully. _The work. It’s what you could count on._ Any number of thieves, thugs and would-be murderers would be infinitely preferable to facing his feelings right now.

He had been working himself into the ground over the last fortnight. No case was too big or too small for his attention. _Perpetual motion_ , he said, over and over. Because as soon as it became quiet, whenever he had a moment for any thought beyond crime reports, all he could think of was her. It was worst at night. Lying in his bed, she swam in and out of his mind’s eye. The last time he saw her, she had looked more beautiful than ever. Her lips, normally painted in some wild shade of red, were resplendent in their natural shade of peachy-pink. But, it was her eyes that haunted him. Their soulful gaze penetrated him – even in his fitful sleep – wanting more. More than he could give. Not because he didn’t want to – but because of the fear that he would never recover when she cast him aside, as she had so many others.

Jack had survived The Great War, an unimaginable feat, when he thought back to it. Trudging up to his knees in mud the consistency of porridge with sixty pounds of gear strapped to his back, dodging shrapnel and barbed wire. And by some miracle, here he was. He had his eyes and all his limbs. His lungs functioned. He had suffered, of course. His marriage had suffered. The terrible memories would resurface from time to time, along with the occasional nightmare, the odd flashback of brothers in arms injured and pleading in their last moments. But, he was not broken. Strange that Phryne Fisher should hold more power over him than the War. _Well, not so strange_ , he reasoned. She would not break his body but, rather, his heart.

 

XXXXXX

 

He was snapped out of his reverie by a sharp rap on his office door. Constable Collins entered precariously at Jack’s invitation.

“Constable Richards said you wanted to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes, Collins. We have some more work to do on the Hanrahan case.” Inspector Robinson gestured to the seat across his desk and Collins sat down.

“I thought we’d finished that one, sir.”

Jack pulled out the manila file and began to leaf through the thick stack of notes, statements and reports. Finding the small slip of paper from his own notepad, he said “There’s a loose end we need to tie up.”

Collins nodded obediently but, groaned inwardly, _Another day of loose ends._ For every case they put to rest, there were half a dozen loose ends that needed their immediate attention. A lesser officer could have been handed the job but, the Inspector was insistent that they should see to every last one.

Sensing his constable’s attitude, Jack glanced up at Collins and saw the miniscule but telltale crumbs on his tunic. Collins had been to her house this very morning. The place he had resolved to never set foot in again. “And how is Miss Fisher?” the Inspector asked in spite of himself.

Hugh goggled at him, _How did he know?_ Jack’s tone was sharp and Hugh knew better than to deny him a proper response. “I-I didn’t see her, Sir.”

“Mmm,” came the Inspector’s reply. He was looking at Collins for any signs of deception and found none. _Too early for her to be up_ , he supposed. _Toffs can afford to sleep in_ , he thought savagely and immediately regretted it.

Silence, that is to say Jack’s own particular brand of silence, had a way of getting people to tell him things. It was an effective interrogation technique and not one he meant to employ on his poor constable. But before long, Collins blurted out, “B-but Dottie asked after you.” Collins knew, by the look of discomposure on the Inspector’s face, that he should have kept that bit of information to himself.

“Miss Williams asked…?” the Inspector prodded.

“Um, just how you were, Sir… that you hadn’t come by in a while.” Collins shifted nervously in his chair. _Is this how it felt to be interrogated?_ He made a mental note to never be on the wrong side of Jack Robinson again.

“And you said…?”

“That you were good. Ah, _fine_. I said fine.” Collins flashed what he hoped was a winning smile.

“Anything else?” his eyes penetrated the young man’s face. He could see there was more to the story. “Out with it, Collins!”

“Ah, Sir. I only said that you were here a lot, at the Station, I mean.”

“And…?”

“And that y-you seemed to h-have a lot on your mind.” Collins said this last bit very fast and subconsciously held his breath.

The Inspector nodded his head and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well, Collins. In the future, if anyone of Miss Fisher’s acquaintance should inquire, your response is to be ‘The Inspector is well.’ That is all. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh breathed in relief.

Satisfied he had gotten the whole story, Jack turned his attention back to the note bearing his own abysmal handwriting. He went over the remaining details that needed securing and sent Collins on his way. He felt certain that he would be dealing with Miss Fisher sooner than he intended and took an even larger case file from his bureau in which he could bury his thoughts, for now.

 

XXXXXX

 

Back in the kitchen, Dot sat down to take her breakfast. Mr. Butler poured her a cup of tea with plenty of milk. He sat down silently across from her. They shared a knowing look. “Mr. Butler,” Dot began tentatively. “Do you think Miss Phryne and the Inspector have had a row...?”

Mr. Butler silenced her off by placing his index finger alongside his nose. But nodded slowly and purposefully, confirming that he, too, believed something was very wrong between them. Within moments, Phryne pushed through the kitchen door.

Even though her eyes were a bit puffy, she looked lovely in the cream, lavender and olive ensemble that Dot had laid out. Tucked into her jacket pocket, the corner just peeking out, was the handkerchief that Dot had embroidered for her. “Thank you, Dot,” she said earnestly, as she patted the pocket, “You always know just what I need.” And, she kissed Dot on the forehead, leaving a deep pink imprint in the shape of a bow. Dot blushed and looked very pleased with herself as Phryne sat next to her at the table.

Mr. Butler poured Phryne a large cup of coffee and set a scone down on each of two plates in front of them. He whisked out of the kitchen mumbling something about needing to clean a rug.

Tobias Butler was all knowing, all seeing and always discrete. He had overheard the exchange, heard Mrs. Stanley voice her concerns, heard his employer summarily dismiss them. _It is of little consequence now, Aunt P_., she had said - in a voice too brittle for his liking. Of course, he intimated nothing, hoping things would right themselves on their own. _But_ , he considered, _this situation may require a helping hand._

He resolved to bide his time until he knew for certain – his days in the AIF had taught him that.

 

XXXXXX

 

Dot thought back to the time she had gone undercover at the pipe fitting factory, she remembered being dragged at gunpoint into a bank, recalled every twist and turn on the way to the seaside in Miss Phryne’s Hispano Suiza and realized she had the courage for this. She took a bite of her scone and a deep gulp of tea. The tea was very strong and further fortified her.

“I’ll not be going out tonight after all, Miss,” she said, in a very even keel. “So, if you have anything you’d like me to mend, just leave it out on your bed.”

“Why not? I thought Hugh had tickets?”

“He’s working a double shift at the Station. I think they must be very busy.”

“Oh?” This didn’t seem right to Phryne. She had been reading the police blotter like a Bible, every day. Crime was a given but, Dot’s account didn’t seem to shore up with reality. She sipped her coffee but ignored the scone. Mere mention of City South Police Station made her stomach feel as though it were full of wriggling worms.

Dot, emboldened by her own initiative, spread more jam on her scone and went on, “Yes. He said the Inspector’s hardly left the Station House for days.” When she looked up, she found Miss Phryne’s eyes meeting her own. A glimmer of hope sparkled there.

Not sure she could lie _(well, it wasn’t exactly a lie)_ straight to Miss Fisher’s face, she looked back down at her scone and added, “Hugh’s worried about him. I can tell. He says the Inspector’s got a lot on his mind.” Phryne was hanging on to Dot’s every word, making sure she heard it accurately.

“The Inspector seems… troubled?” Phryne asked.

“I can’t say, Miss. But, he does seem… Overburdened.” Dot nodded emphasis and had to clench her teeth to hold back a victorious smile.

But, Phryne’s mind was racing, _He’s not carrying on as if everything were fine._

“Couldn’t you help him?” Dot prodded. It was the most she dared say on the subject.

“I’m not sure he wants my help, Dot,” Phryne said dolefully as the sadness crept back into her face.

Dot looked at her steadily and said “Father Grogan says, ‘the man who asks not for help often has the greatest need.’” _Okay, maybe Father Grogan didn’t say that but, he should have._ Dot reached out and placed a firm hand on Miss Fisher’s own before excusing herself from the table. “Don’t forget about the mending, Miss,” Dot called behind her as she left the kitchen, knowing full well Miss Phryne didn’t give two hoots about the mending. She smiled to herself and thought such good work definitely deserved an ice cream, later today.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne decides to confront Jack about his estrangement.

Phryne went about the business of her day: She met up with Bert and Cec to discuss reconnaissance plans for a developing case involving far too many suspicious characters; a lunch meeting with her banker to discuss a trust for Jane; and a briefcase, containing some highly embarrassing photographs and plates, that needed returning to its rightful owner. _Just another day,_ she thought ruefully.

Returning home, Phryne opted to forego dinner and indulge in a bath instead. A long soak would do more for her mental acuity than roasted chicken. If her hunch was right, she had to prepare. She slipped out of her clothing and eased herself into the hot water. _Tactics,_ she thought. It was like preparing for a chess match. For each maneuver, she tried to conclude the chain reaction.

Unfortunately, Phryne Fisher never cared for chess. Not enough room for improvisation. Compounding her difficulty was the identity of her challenger. It was impossible to get through any scenario without hearing Jack’s voice uttering, _Miss Fish-ah!_ in her mind’s ear. So easily could she picture his expression that recollecting one image of him fixing her – thin-lipped, vexed, jaw clenching – drew forward a dozen more. _It was his signature look,_ she scoffed. _But,_ she insisted, _he had been more generous with his smiles in recent months._ She closed her eyes and was nearly done soaping the day off her skin when she realized she was imagining Jack’s hands on her body instead of her own.

 _So much for tactics._ She turned on the cold water tap full blast and stuck her head beneath it. The mental fog lifted and she felt much more herself. At that moment, Phryne resolved to sod the tactics and operate on instinct.

She stared at her wardrobe, _Nothing too extravagant but, enough to make an impact._ A pair of black, crepe de chine trousers. A silk blouse with a notched collar in a shade of deep, spruce green. A long scarf of Helenic design, bearing a scroll pattern of green and peach which twisted and turned along the sumptuous black fabric. She once told Dot that a woman should dress for her own pleasure. And, it was true. But, Phryne also believed that, in her hands, a woman also holds the power of influence - however subtle it may be.

Phryne dressed carefully, methodically, as if in meditation. She slipped the grey chemise over her head and donned the matching knickers. She paused, fingering the fine silk. Jack had seen her in these once. To her dismay, but not surprise, he had done nothing. _'The brave man holds honour far more precious-dear than life.'_ Fully dressed, she secured the scarf with a brooch that sparkled with pink quartz stones and slipped in her earrings - long drops of dark green crystal that swung beneath her bob.

Assessing the reflection in the mirror, she pronounced herself satisfied. Turning to leave the room, a swatch of bright fabric caught her eye. Lying on the bed was Dot's handkerchief. She snapped it up and tucked it into her trouser pocket as she strode out, _For luck._ Phryne didn't really believe in luck anymore than she believed in coincidences. But, tonight, she would take what she could get.

 

XXXXXX

 

City South Police Station had been quiet this evening. The constables and staff sergeant who worked the midnight shift were busy with paperwork but Jack Robinson hadn't heard so much as the phone ring in hours. He had completed his notes on the Page-Preston theft case, filed his report on the Harrington investigation and began compiling a case file on what seemed to be a new bootlegging racket operating out of Burnley.

Hungry as he was for new cases to occupy his mind, he was considering assigning this one to someone else. It hit a little too close to home. Memories poured forth. Images of Phryne lounging on a chaise, pulling a golden fob watch out of her décolletage, eating chips under a dock. Her promise to wear less next time. Jack began to pace around his office, hoping the physical act would chase them away.

Hugh stretched out at his desk and a shuddering yawn took over him. He looked up at the clock, _Eleven-thirty._ He been there since half past seven this morning. The scuffle attracted the attention of the Inspector.

"Problem, Collins?"

"No, sir. Sorry, sir," he bleated through another yawn he could not stifle.

Jack surveyed the room in its inactivity and felt ashamed of himself, "All right, Constable. You're dismissed." There was no reason for him to make the lad suffer alongside him.

"Really, sir?"

Jack nodded and glanced at the clock, "When's your next shift? Noon?"

"Ah, three, sir." Hugh held his breath.

"Very well, Collins," he sighed. "See you at three." The Inspector bid him good night and Hugh grabbed up his helmet and made his way quickly out of the Station, before the man changed his mind.

 

XXXXXX

 

A pair of light blue eyes watched as Hugh Collins lumbered out of the Station House door. He had his helmet tucked under his arm. _Not on duty, anymore._ Phryne had parked the Hispano Suiza down the street, opposite the police station. It was an excellent spot, where the trees shaded the car from the burning street lamps and the vantage point gave her a clear view.

She had surmised that Jack wouldn't keep Hugh all night. He just wasn't the task master sort - despite what he would have everyone believe. But she understood his wish. It would have been a comfort to have Hugh by his side. After all, she had Mac and Dot, Mr. Butler, Cec and Bert and even Jane to look after her. Jack had no one.

She waited for Hugh to turn the corner before unlatching the car door and creeping up the street. She dodged the halos of light, moving like a shadow - a shadow in heels, anyway - and came to a crouching position under the Station's street-facing window. Muffled voices came from the other side. "Yer want somethin, Inspect-ah?" A shadow loomed behind the window blinds and Phryne made herself smaller, tucking her chin into the collar of her black wool topper. She threw herself around the corner as a junior Constable with a broad, flat face counted up the coins in his hand and marched off in search of the late night food hawker who made rounds near the police and fire stations.

A minute later, a plainclothes policeman appeared. Led by the glowing embers of a lit cigarette, he stepped into the night air and breathed it in. "Pleasant enough out 'ere, Robinson!" the man yelled over his shoulder. "Goin' for a stroll. Back in a jif." The detective lumbered off. Phryne had been holding her breath but seized her chance, catching the heavy door just before it closed.

She stood silently in the vestibule for a moment. As she had hoped, there was no one left manning the front desk. _At least I have the element of surprise._ Catching someone off guard was one of Phryne's favorite ways of getting to the truth. She smoothed her topper and adjusted the black circle beret that she favored for covert missions. Shuffling so the _click_ of her heels wouldn't give her away, she made her way to the swinging gate which separated the waiting area from the rest of the station. Guiding it forward tentatively, it gave the meekest of squeaks and allowed her passage with no more alarm. The office door bearing the lettering, "Detective Inspector J. Robinson," was ajar.

Jack was slumped over his desk, head in his hands , staring down at a sea of papers that blurred in front of his eyes. He was exhausted. Normally, he would have been irritated that his men took their breaks at the same time but, tonight, he was relieved. He couldn't pretend to focus for another minute. He just needed to close his eyes. Just for a second.

"Hello, Jack," came the sultry voice. It was the quickest he had fallen asleep in days. And, of course, there she was to haunt his subconscious. _Wait..._ He opened his eyes slowly and looked from side to side. Placing both hands on his desk to steady himself, he lifted his head and was met with her intelligent eyes. _This wasn't a dream. She was here._ Her eyes were bright. Her complexion seemed to glow. Her mouth... _Don't think about her mouth._

She surveyed him, as well. His cheekbones jutted out, sharper than usual. _Not eating,_ she noted, thinking of her own lack of appetite. Dark half moons had settled under his eyes. _Not sleeping, either_. His jaw was set and he wore an mulish expression. Taking a step into his office, she held his gaze, determined not to let her own stubborn nature overrule her.

Phryne pulled off her beret and didn't bother to smooth the hairs that went astray. The effect was unintentional but immediate. His face softened. His eyes held a spark of warmth, where moments before, there had been only defiance. He laughed inwardly at himself for his weakness. Shaking it off, he spoke in a very controlled voice, "Miss Fisher. What brings you here?"

His tone didn't surprise her. She knew he would revert back to his own brand of defensive aloofness. "May I sit down, Detective Inspector?" He gestured wordlessly to the empty chair. Phryne peeled off her coat and folded it over the back of the chair.

He couldn't stop himself watching her every movement. Jack had long resigned that, in the presence of Miss Fisher, one simply didn't have a choice in the matter - she absorbed all the energy in the room. And tonight, she looked particularly radiant - which unhinged him all the more. He was sure she had no real business being there, other than to torture him. Growing impatient with the queasiness that was slowly devouring him from the inside out, he lashed out. "Miss Fisher!"

She perched on the edge of her chair. "Jack," she began tentatively.

His stomach began to churn and his jaw tightened reflexively. "How dare you come into my Station, looking like that and..."

"Looking like what?"

He didn't answer the question. "This is neither the time nor the place..."

Phryne deftly switched gears, "I'd like to file a missing persons report."

Jack looked as though he'd been slapped. "Missing person? Who's missing? It's not... Not.. Jane?"

"No! No, Jack!" Phryne backpedaled. "Jane's fine. It's to do with a... case I'm working on."

"Oh," he breathed as he settled back into his chair. "Constable Richards will be back soon. He can give you the paperwork..." The sooner she left the better. He was finding it difficult to breathe.

"It's just that... Well, you see... the man... He has run off on his own accord."

"Gone walkabout?"

"In a manner of speaking. And she, my client, was informed that there was nothing for it."

"And you've checked out all his usual haunts, I suppose?" 

Phryne nodded, looking down as she did so.

"Mmm." Jack clasped his hands and placed them in his lap.

"I don't know what else I can do for her, Jack." Regret and sadness coloured her words. "He's gone and I-I don't know how to get him back." Her voice caught in her throat and she placed her hands on his desk to steady herself. She hadn't intended to get so emotional.

He looked down at his desk, down at her hands, half reaching out to him and finally saw through the ruse. There was no case. No client. It all became clear. She was talking about him. He couldn't even be angry. Sighing deeply, he told her softly, "Sometimes... a man just doesn't want to be found."

Phryne bore down on the desk, her eyes exposing her fears, "But what if he's hurt?"

Jack leaned in toward her and a moment passed between them, when rest of the world ceased to exist. "She may have to let him be," his voice was hoarse and barely audible.

"But..." she edged closer to him, and he to her, eyes searching for the possibility.

At that precise moment, the young constable barged through the Station House door, rubbing his stomach and grunting with indigestion.

And, just like that, it was over.

Jack stood up, "Constable Richards, would you please see that Miss Fisher gets a copy of the missing persons documentation?" He gestured to the door.

"Nevermind, Constable," Phryne uttered in a thick voice, "That won't be necessary." She rose regally from her chair and turned to face Jack. His expression was stony once more. "Goodbye, Detective Inspector." She took her coat and walked purposefully out of the station, trying desperately to hold back the tears burning her eyes.

Out in the street, she gulped lungfuls of fresh air and quickened her pace to the car. Once in the sanctity of the Hispano, she flipped on the wireless and allowed herself a good cry to the genius of Cab Calloway.

 

XXXXXX

 

Mr. Butler heard Miss Fisher come in - he had been waiting up. Dot had regaled him with her tale of domestic espionage but he saw at once that it had not gone well. Uttering not a word, he handed her a glass of water and two aspirin and disappeared.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Butler's on the case.

Phryne awoke the next morning resolving to put Detective Inspector Jack Robinson out of her life for good. Over the next few days, she threw herself into her work – even agreeing to take on a case she would have otherwise turned down. It required travel to the pretty, but dull, town of Bairnsdale. _A change of scenery will do me good._

"Are you sure about this, Miss?” asked Dot as she sat on a second overstuffed truck while Miss Fisher tried to latch it shut. Dot had observed quietly as Miss Phryne went about her business like a woman possessed. And, now, she was suddenly leaving?

"Oh, yes! Dot!” replied Phryne, a little too enthusiastically. “Very interesting case. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see the Gippsland Lakes,” she lied. “I’ve gone a bit soft. Time to rough it for a change!” Of course, _roughing it_  to Phryne Fisher meant having to stay in a hotel with a common bathroom and limiting her footwear to only three pairs.

Dot nodded, recognizing the determined tone. “When’s your train?”

“Half past eleven. Cec should be here any minute.”

Mr. Butler assisted Cec with her trunks, loading them into the cab.

Cec was his usual good-natured self. “My dad’s uncle used to live out that way, Miss. Used to go as a kid. Good fishing.”

Phryne smiled at him appreciatively.

“You staying near the lakes?” he asked.

“Someplace called the Adelaide House. Heard of it?"

Cec shook his head and pulled the cab up to the depot and waved a porter over to help with the trunks. Phryne tipped the porter then pulled a paper note out of her bag for Cec.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” he said as he waved the money away.

“Go on, Cec. You would have had a fare if it wasn’t for me.”

“Nah. You just come back, safe and sound, Miss. That’d be payment enough for me.”

 

XXXXXX

 

"Adelaide House? That’s what she said?” demanded Bert. Cec nodded. They each had a large brown bottle in front of them as they sat at the table in Miss Fisher’s kitchen. Dot laid a tray of sandwiches out on the table. “What the bloody hell’s in Bairnsdale? ‘Sides mosquitos the size of elephants?” Bert was not one to keep his opinions to himself.

"An acquaintance of Mrs. Stanley inquired after Miss Fisher’s assistance, and she sought fit to give it,” replied Mr. Butler. He spoke in a quiet tone but everyone – even Bert – was commanded by it. “And, we shall make the best of her absence.”

The first order of business, as Tobias Butler saw it, was to assess the Inspector. With the utmost discretion, of course.

Dot was assigned to reconnaissance.

“We can tail him!” insisted Bert.

“He’d pick us off in a flash,” contested Cec.

“Mr. Yates is right,” agreed Mr. Butler. “You may insure that Miss Williams gets home safely.”

“But, keep your distance,” hissed Dot.

Bert was too proud of Dottie’s new found moxie to take offense and grinned toothily at her instead. “If ya need a distraction, though…” he added.

Mr. Butler beamed at him, “You’re just the man.”

"Hah!” Bert exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair and winked at Cec, who nodded his approval.

“Now, Dorothy,” Mr. Butler addressed his spy, “A man like the Detective Inspector wants for very little. But, even such a man must eat.” Dot smiled knowingly.

 

XXXXXX

 

Dot took a picnic lunch to Hugh and managed to get a peek at the week’s shift schedule. That evening, she waited patiently outside the Station for the Inspector to leave and noted the number of the tram he boarded. The following evening, she boarded the tram a stop ahead of the station, dressed in an overlong coat and a large cloche. She carried a ladies’ magazine and buried her nose in it as her eyes darted about in search of her target.

Inspector Robinson had boarded the tram looking weary. He took a place right at the front, never even noticing her. She counted the stops until he got off the tram. Distracted as he was, she thought it safe to take a small chance and as the driver made to pull away, she clambered to the front and pleaded, “Oh! I’m so sorry. That was my stop!” The other passengers groaned, anxious as they were to get on, but driver took pity on her and stopped the tram again, allowing the young lady to disembark.

The Inspector was making his way up the street but Dorothy took her time, keeping him in range. It was a middle class neighborhood. The yards were small but tidy, and large trees lined the walk. It was the kind of place where she hoped to settle down with Hugh and smiled her approval.

She watched as he walked up a path to a one of the larger house, which had been divided into apartments. He took out his keys and let himself in. Gathering her nerve, Dot walked up the path to the main door. To the door’s right, a large brass plate bore four buttons, each with a small handwritten card in a slot. “J. Robinson” was scrawled next to one. 

The next several nights went on the same way and Dot was growing frustrated. Station, Crime Scene, Station, Home.  Apparently, the Inspector did not need to eat. Or else his pantry was better stocked than Miss Fisher’s. The only progress she had made in days was learning where Inspector Robinson lived.

 

XXXXXX

 

Things weren’t any easier for Jack since Phryne’s visit to the Station. His life consisted of sleep (deficient as it was) and work. But even on the job, a particular detail would emerge during the course of an investigation and Phryne sprang to mind - knowing as he did - that she would have found it intriguing or amusing. Try as he might to push Phryne out of his life, he could not keep her out of his thoughts.

He saw the image of her hands on his desk, reaching toward him – until he summarily threw her out of his office. ‘But’ she had said. _But, what?_

Not that it mattered, now. She had taken him at his word and left him alone.

 

XXXXXX

 

Mrs. Stanley’s acquaintance turned out to be a well-connected banker whose clients' accounts were slowly but steadily leaking funds.

Phryne posed as an investor and had the embezzlement case wrapped up within a matter of days. He was so pleased with her work – and her discretion – that he invited her to stay at the Adelaide House on holiday for another week. With no pressing desire to return to Melbourne, she happily accepted.

 _Besides, it’s not so bad here_ , she considered as she looked out her window and surveyed a very handsome man walking up path. The bank’s deputy manager – a notorious rogue she was told, by the hotel clerk – had taken a fancy to Phryne the moment she had set foot in the bank. Considering him a suspect, she had initially turned down his advances but now that the case was over, she was free to indulge.

He was waiting for her in the lobby, looking very smart in a dark, well-cut, Saville Row suit. John Price was tall with an olive complexion, dark hair, dark eyes and a dazzling smile. He offered her his arm and she accompanied him to dinner. Unfortunately, Mr. Price was as dull as he was good looking. He talked incessantly of the markets, diversification and dividends. _He certainly is attentive, though,_ Phryne thought.

In fact, John Price had barely taken his eyes off her all night. _Just what I need._

Phryne Fisher believed that one of the best ways to get over a man was to get under another one. When Mr. Price asked if he could take her on a midnight stroll, she didn’t hesitate to accept. She kept the conversation focused on him – a trick she had learned long ago in order to avoid personal questions – and it enthralled him further.

Price made to kiss her and she allowed it. Phryne wasn't particularly interested in John Price but, it felt wonderful to be wanted so openly. His hands caressed her and she threw herself into his kiss. She let her mind go and focused on the sensations. Warm lips on hers, hands in her hair. She was caught up in the petting when Price pulled away to muffle a laugh.

"What is it?” asked Phryne, confused.

“It's nothing, Miss Fisher," Mr. Price replied, a smile still on his face.

"What is so amusing?" she demanded.

“It’s just that... Well, no one’s called me, ‘Jack’ since I’ve been out of short pants.”

"Sorry?"

" _Jack_ , Miss Fisher. You called me, Jack. My sister used to... when I was a lad..."

“O-oh. I'm sorry," she flustered. "I thought... Well, Jack is short for John, isn't it,” Phryne covered quickly. But red blooms burned Phryne's cheeks as she realized the depth of her own humiliation.

"Of course," Price replied, good-naturedly. He had no idea of the real meaning behind the name she had uttered in a moment of passion.

They walked back to the hotel in relative silence. John Price kissed her hand goodnight and ventured, “I hope I didn’t ruin it for us, back there. I wasn't laughing at you."

“Not at all, Mr. Price,” she said kindly. “Perhaps another time.”

Alone in her room, Phryne threw herself onto the bed. Her insides turned as she considered what she had said, the circumstances in which she said it. _Jack._ She wasn't ready to move on. She wondered if she would ever be ready.

 

XXXXXX

 

There was a pub, not far from the Inspector's apartment house, which Bert and Cec used as a pick up point for Dot. It was a nice place – nicer than their usual haunts – and the food was tasty. They took to frequenting it in their spare time, having a meal and sharing a few pints.

Cec was paying the evening’s tab when a young boy of about twelve plopped a large box on the bar. “Delivery’s ready, Hal!” the boy shouted to an older kid who was fidgeting by the door. “’Bout time!” the kid snapped back. He needed his tips - and the later the delivery was, the smaller they got.

Cec looked down into the box and saw a number of brown paper parcels, growing steadily more translucent with the grease. Hal went over the orders and checked each off in his pad. “Mr. Daniel, Mr. Patterson, Ole’ Mrs. Bainbridge and Inspector Robinson. Right! I’m off.”

Bert’s head snapped up from down the bar. He had heard it, too. Cec grinned at him.

They waited for the young man to return to the pub. Hal sat down at the bar and counted his tips.

"You do deliveries, regular?” Bert asked him congenially.

“Yes, sir,” Hal replied. “Just ‘round the neighborhood. Same people. You int’rested?” asked Hal, who was keen to increase his meager wages.

Bert sized the kid up. “How’d you feel about earning a little extra? Say, couple a pounds?”

Hal raised an eyebrow, “To do what?"

 

XXXXXX

 

“I’m sorry, Inspector. I promised my mum. Can’t do your delivery tonight. But I’m back on tomorrow, right?”

“It’s alright. It won’t kill me to walk down there.” Jack smiled half-heartedly at the kid. A noisy public house wasn’t exactly the evening he had in mind. He considered simply going to bed but, his stomach growled noisily.

To his relief, the pub wasn’t its usual full to bursting. Removing his hat, he made his way to the back of the bar when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

“Inspector Robinson!”

“Mr. Butler?” Jack looked quizzically at the man, who looked quite out of place in casual dress. “Ah, good to see you,” and he shook the man’s outstretched hand.

Mr. Butler gestured to the seat beside him, “Care to join me? Nice to have someone cook for me for a change,” he said with a wink.

Jack had always liked Mr. Butler. He found him unassuming and friendly, highly intelligent and possessed of an abiding loyalty to Miss Fisher. For reasons in spite of himself, this last quality only endeared the man to him more. He took the seat that was offered and ordered, “What he’s having.”

They made small talk at first. Mr. Butler relished in his colorful tales of serving in the AIF and Jack found himself smiling for the first time in weeks. Two thick slices of apple pie were brought out for dessert. Mr. Butler savored a forkful and pronounced it very good, “But, nothing to compare to Mrs. Butler’s.”

Jack averted his eyes. He had never heard the man speak about his late wife before. “It’s all right, Inspector,” Mr. Butler said kindly. “She was magic in the kitchen,” he reminisced fondly. “And a force to be reckoned with.”

Jack nodded – he knew the type, “I’m sure you miss her.”

“Mmm. The living take each other for granted, Inspector.” He fixed Jack with a look of utmost concern and respect, “Each day that goes unspent with the ones who are precious to us is a waste of our spirit. I wouldn’t like to think I squandered a moment.”

The words reverberated in Jack’s brain. Mr. Butler was suddenly on his feet, his sturdy hand on Jack’s shoulder. He pulled a small white card out of his coat pocket and laid it deliberately in front of the Inspector. Doffing his hat, Tobias Butler took his leave.

Still in a daze, Jack picked up the card. In a very neat hand it read: Adelaide House, Bairnsdale.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Robinson heads for Bairnsdale.

Jack Robinson was a careful man. He almost never made a rash decision.

Which is why he felt so incredibly stupid as he stepped off the train in the Bairnsdale depot. He had allowed himself to be optimistic on the trip, thinking a change of scenery might help erase some of the pain he had caused them both. But now, with his luggage in hand, all he could think of was boarding the first train back to Melbourne. Until Mr. Butler’s words rang in his ears. _Don’t waste another day._

It was a cool, sunny day and Jack waved on the cabs and carriages, opting to walk so he could stretch his legs and air out his thoughts. What would he even say when he saw her? _An apology would be a good start,_ came the reply from the part of his brain that spoke in Phryne’s voice. He laughed to himself, _Indeed, it would._

Outside the Adelaide House, Jack took a deep breath and moved with purpose. His eyes couldn’t help darting about.

He approached the desk and told the uniformed clerk, “Room for Robinson."

The clerk looked through his book for the listing and found it. “Ah! Here you are, Mr. Robinson.” He drew a key out of a desk drawer and handed it to Jack. “Room six, sir. Just up the stairs to the right. Sign here, please.”

Jack nodded and scrawled his name on the ledger.

“Do you require any assist…” The clerk’s voice trailed off as his attention was distracted and his gaze wandered over Jack’s left shoulder.

He knew that look. Jack steeled himself and turned around. Even still, he was unprepared for the sight of her.

Phryne Fisher was enchanting in in wool cape of blackwatch plaid, dark green jodhpurs and black leather boots. A matching plaid beret perched atop her shiny black bob and her favorite crystal green earrings dangled from her earlobes.

“Miss Fisher!” Shouted the bell hop. He issued her a small bow and it was plain to see the young man was smitten with her. She smiled kindly at him. “I heard you checked out yesterday! Thought I’d missed telling you g'bye.”

Phryne had indeed come very close to leaving for Melbourne the previous day. She had felt betrayed by her own heart - there was no reason to stay in Bairnsdale if it still chained her to Melbourne. Feeling unsettled, she had gone for a long walk out of doors to clear her head and found that being in nature soothed her frazzled nerves.

When John Price had called to apologize yet again, he had insisted she could not leave before he took her on a tour of the lakes. She accepted, thinking it might do her good. At the very least, she would be able to report back to Cec on their current condition. As the hour approached for Price's call, Phryne was ready to be whisked away by the distraction. The lakes promised new vistas for her eyes and Price's attention made her feel desired. She had come downstairs quite looking forward to it.

“Very nearly, Reg. I was persuaded to stay through the week, as planned.”

Overhearing their conversation, Jack wondered if Mr. Butler had sent word… With this thought in mind, he took a few steps toward her.

Sensing the movement, Phryne looked past her admirer and was positively dumbstruck to see the face of Jack Robinson.

The color drained out of her face. “Jack,” she uttered in a faint voice.

“You alright, Miss Fisher?” the bell hop asked. Seeing an opportunity for gallantry, he added, “This man bothering you?” and inclined his head toward the unwanted guest.

Phryne smiled awkwardly at the young man, “Perfectly fine. Thank you, Reginald.” Reg understood a dismissal when he heard one and took up his position near the desk, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the male interloper.

Jack said in a low voice, “Hello, Miss Fisher.”

She had no words for him and he was growing uncomfortable with her gaze.

Not an easy woman to take by surprise, the sight of him left Phryne feeling as if she might actually faint. Shock, then hope, then righteous indignation each fought for the upper hand as they pulsed through her. She settled on the last one as it made her feel the most powerful.

She recalled the last time she saw his face. _Cold, like a statue._ And hurt began to seep through the anger. _If cold was his aim, I'll give him frostbite._ The thought allowed anger to dominate once more.

He was more than an arms-length from her but Jack, sensing the shift, did not dare to come closer. He began, feebly, “I came to see..."

Then, a man of some stature suddenly swept up to Phryne and kissed her hand, “Phryne, darling! You look wonderful!”

Jack bristled at the man's use of her first name. Finally noticing the lady's friend, the man said, “Oh! Excuse me! Didn't mean to interrupt."

As though on cue, Price had waltzed in - unaware. _I couldn't have planned it better, myself,_ she thought ruthlessly.

“John Price, allow me to introduce Detective Inspector Robinson,” Phryne said deliberately, but with a false air that Jack recognized.

Price reached out hand cordially for Jack’s hand and shook it once it was proffered.

“Inspector Robinson and I used to be colleagues of a sort back in Melbourne,” Phryne explained, now focusing her attentions entirely on Price.

Surveying the awkwardness but, not certain what to make of it, Price looked at his watch and urged Phryne, “We should to be getting on, my dear. Pleasure to meet you, Inspector!”

Jack stood there and watched, feeling like a fool, as Phryne took the man’s arm to be guided outside to an awaiting car. She didn't so much as a glance back. He took his trunk up to his room and trudged right back downstairs in search of the nearest public house.

 

XXXXXX

 

Drowning his sorrows in drink had never really worked for Jack so after only two whiskeys, he paid his tab and wandered out of the pub and away from town. He followed the smell of freshwater and walked for hours.

The sky had turned an inky blue and his pockets clinked with the shells he had carefully chosen from the silty sand of the bay. Jack's thoughts were clearer now. He couldn't blame her. Not the way he had dismissed her. _And not for the first time, either,_ he callously reminded himself. He would catch the first train back.

Making his way back up the high street, he heard a voice call out to him, “Inspector Robertson, is it?”

"Robinson,” Jack corrected. It was Price. Reluctantly, he shook the man's outstretched hand again.

"Of course! John Price. Just back from a tour of the lakes and dinner. Do you plan to take in the landscape while you're here?"

"Uh, no. No. I'm afraid duty calls," Jack lied. "I'm headed back to Melbourne in the morning."

“Fascinating business, what you and Miss Fisher do. I expect there’s never a dull moment.”

“No. Never dull,” Jack conceded.

“I’m in banking, myself. It has its ups and downs, you know…”

Jack wanted to hate him on principle but, he was an affable fellow. For an instant, Jack was reminded of Lin Chung. _Not another one._ But with Phryne, he knew, there would always be another one. Jack lost track of the conversation as Price recounted the latest market trends and the growing global economy. He perked back up when Price invoked Miss Fisher's name again.

“I’m sorry. What’s that?”

“You should have seen her. She was marvelous! Undercover, and all. Had everyone fooled!” Price’s eyes were full of the admiration Jack was all too used to seeing where Phryne was concerned. “She’s a real spit-fire!”

“She is, indeed,” Jack agreed and smiled in spite of himself.

Price didn’t fancy himself a fool. He could see there was something between this detective and Miss Fisher. Perhaps he carried a torch for her – but he could hardly be blamed for that. “Do you work on many cases together?”

“Uh… We did, yes, Mr. Price.” Jack said quietly as looked down into his hands.

“You must call me John,” insisted Price, suddenly taking pity on the man.

“Jack. Jack Robinson,” replied the detective instinctively.

Price looked stunned for a moment. Then, he laughed under his breath as the pieces fell into place.

As a very eligible bachelor in a small town, he had become so used to female attention that it was easy for him to believe Miss Fisher's interests were genuine. Price had mistaken Phryne’s aloofness for mystery, believed her ridiculous story about mixing up his name without question, thought her insulted when she wished to cut her trip short. He remembered the tension between the two detectives at the hotel. The reason for her behavior was, in fact, standing in front of him. Jack Robinson was the man she wanted.

Price couldn't be too mad. After all, he thought it unlikely a cosmopolitan woman such as Miss Fisher would give up Melbourne for a life in the country. Still, his ego was bruised and he thought it best to bring the conversation to a swift end.

With a nod of finality, Price conceded, “You’re a lucky man, Jack. I hope you know that,” and spun on his heel toward his car.

Humiliation burning his face and feeling goaded by Price, Jack followed the man and pushed him hard on the shoulder, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled. Like an animal, Jack was most dangerous when he was wounded.

Price had no wish to fight. He raised both his hands in capitulation. “I wasn’t taking a shot at you, if that’s what you think, Inspector.”

“Why don’t you tell me…” Jack pressed as jealousy pumped through his veins.

“I shouldn’t like to say how I know but, I believe Miss Fisher has…”

“What?” Jack spat.

“I believe she has… feelings for you. But, I am a gentleman and that is all I will speak on the matter!” With that, Price pulled down his vest and marched off.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontation - The Mermaid's Coin

Lumbering up to his room with the faintest spark of hope reignited in him, Jack considered how he might determine the location of Miss Fisher’s quarters, _That bell boy certainly wasn’t going to do him any favors._

He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Suddenly, he felt exhausted. The full weight of the journey and all its expectations and disappointments bore down on him. _The morning,_ he thought. _I'll find her first thing._ The room was dark and he didn’t bother to turn on a light as he hung his overcoat and hat on the hook. He pulled off his jacket and tie and tossed them toward the nearby chair as he collapsed onto the bed, vest half undone.

“Is this a hint?”

He jumped out of his skin. _When am I going to learn?_

In the armchair near the bed sat Phryne, his jacket caught in her arms. She wore only her nightclothes – silk pajamas in palest pink, and a black robe and slippers of Oriental design.

"How far did you walk in that outfit?" Jack hissed, scandalized once again by her lack of propriety.

"That's what you're going to lead with? Besides, I'm just across the hall."

"Still… Did you break in or did you..."

"I've made some new friends," she interrupted, unable to resist the urge to vex him further.

"I'd noticed." He sat up and willed himself to be calm. In order to keep from making the same mistakes, he was going to have to treat this just like another investigation. "In fact, I just had a rather interesting chat with your new particular friend."

Phryne bristled. She didn't care to hear Jack's opinion on her choice of male companions - whether she was interested in them or not. "Really? And what could you and John Price possibly have in common?"

Her words sought to injure him, but Jack remained impassive, intent on discovering the truth. "Why, we have _you_ in common, Miss Fisher."

Jack observed her as best he could in the lack of light - as if she were a suspect. He could see that he was getting to her from the way her spine had straightened. "Tell me, how did my name manage to come up during an excursion with your Mr. Price?"

He could not possibly understand the weight of his question. Jack simply supposed she would have had to bring it up for Price to think she had feelings for another man - him in particular.

Phryne was quickly losing her composure. Despite the artless nature of his inquiry, his words had unsettled her and she began to feel foolish and embarrassed. She had to move. She rose from the chair - unable to look at him.

Still, he would not be diverted. "How did he know, Phryne?"

Jack's jacket still in her hands, she walked over to the hook and hung it out of desperation to do anything but answer him. She smoothed out the crumpled fabric and Jack's scent washed over her. When she finally spoke, she addressed her question to the coat stand. "What did he tell you?"

"He said that I was lucky." Jack left it at that, seeking to preserve her dignity.

She was absentmindedly stroking his overcoat and discovered the shells in its pockets. Pulling out an odd shaped one, she turned it over in her hands. It wasn't smooth like the others. It felt like fine sanding paper and had a raised imprint on one side.

Jack saw the white disc in her fingers and said, "Mermaid's Coin. Can't find them south of here."

"Mermaid's Coin?" she asked in a faraway voice. She was thinking of a day by the seaside in St. Kilda, under a pier in Queenscliff, of toasting pirates and boys on bicycles.

Jack laughed softly. "Reminded me of you."

Phryne moved as if in a daze. Instead of taking her place in the chair, she sat down near him on the edge of the bed. The sand dollar continued to spin under her fingers. Jack thought she seemed almost hypnotized by it.

She spoke in a whisper, "I said your name."

Jack didn't understand but he feared a sound from him would end her confession.

"He kissed me and..."

The realization broke over Jack like a wave. "He kissed you and you..." His throat was suddenly very dry.

Phryne smiled sadly and almost imperceptibly nodded her head. "I wanted it to be you."

Jack was grateful for the darkness as he felt a tear break loose and quickly blinked the rest back. They sat in silence for long minutes, each wrapped up in their own contemplation.

Phryne's thoughts strayed back to her reason for being in a darkened hotel room in the first place."Why are you here, Jack? Why did you come?" Now it was her turn to interrogate. The coin ceased its movement and she sat very still.

When he found his voice, he answered, "I came to make things right between us."

"What does that even mean, anymore?"

Posed with the question, he realized that he wasn't sure, himself. "I don't know."

A sharp laugh escaped her lips. "How the devil did you manage to board that train?"

"I had some encouragement," he admitted as he pulled the small white card, bearing Mr. Butler's impeccable hand, from his shirt pocket.

"The plot thickens."

"It wasn't like that. I only ran into him."

"You don't know Mr. Butler the way I do." Her voice was lighter now and Jack felt some of the tension dissipate.

He looked at her, outlined in the darkness. Her hair was hanging forward and a faint smile still played on her lips, imagining Mr. Butler scheming in the kitchen with Dot.

"He told me not to waste the time we have together. In so many words," Jack confessed.

"What are you saying, Jack?" She placed her hand on his chest, near his heart, and splayed her fingers wide across the white cotton of his shirt. But, the fear was too much. He felt the flight response surge through him.

Taking her by the wrist to halt her movement, he spoke in a constrained voice, “Don’t.”

She tore her hand from his grip and leaped forward to snap on the bedside lamp. The sudden brightness made them both wince.

“Why are you so afraid to be with me?” Phryne tried to keep the hurt out of her voice. He wouldn’t look at her. “You think me incapable of love?”

His face softened a little as she exposed the self-doubt she usually hid so well. “You took in a child who had nowhere else to go. Nearly got yourself killed to uncover the truth about your sister. You… you made a family out of a maid accused of murder, a widowed butler and a couple of red-raggers.” His voice cracked.

“I notice you didn’t include yourself in that last one,” she quietly observed.

Jack ignored this. “No, Miss Fisher, I think you have a deeper capacity for love than perhaps anyone I have ever known.”

His words moved her, sending an incredible sadness spiraling through her. Preferring anger to sadness, she sprang to the defensive and paced about the room. “Worried about your reputation, then,” she spat. “My past indiscretions too much for your delicate sensibilities?” Phryne loathed the fact that a man could do whatever he pleased yet a woman was forever branded a harlot.

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation!” he snarled at her. She knew it was true. “What’s more," he said through gritted teeth, “I don’t care how many men you’ve been with.” This was mostly true. “But, I just…" He cursed that he didn't have any whiskey to help loosen his tongue and took a deep breath.

“The fact is, Phryne…” His hands were twisting in front of him. “I don't want to be just another one of _them_. Someone more interesting is going to come along… Or... you'll just get bored. Decide you want something different. And I'm… " He sighed heavily and it took all the strength he had left to admit, "I'm afraid I won't recover.”

 _So that was it,_ she thought. In his mind, it was over before it had even begun. “That’s not fair. You’re not even giving me a chance." She reached down to touch his face but, Jack pulled away as if he had been burned.

"No. At least this way, we'll still have something."

"No, Jack. I'm afraid we won't." Phryne's voice was soft but firm. "We've come too far and I can't go back." Tears began to fall from her eyes but she made no attempt to hide them or stem their flow.

She held the sand dollar up to the light. Five tiny shadows appeared in a star shape. "You know, some people would rush to break this open for the momentary thrill of discovering what was inside. Others would look at it and see something so fragile that they do all they can to protect it. They put it under glass, perhaps, or tuck it away in a box where it's neglected. But neither gets any joy from it."

"What would you do?" he asked.

"Enjoy it. Appreciate it."

"What if it gets broken?" Jack looked up, desperate to know the answer.

"Then I will know I was part of something rare and beautiful. And, perhaps, I will better understand myself and the world for it." Taking his wrist, she pressed the shell into his hand. "But, why assume it will break? It may be the kind that endures." Leaning down to him, she pressed her lips gently to the faint scar on his forehead then saw herself out.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne's worth the risk.

Phryne had fallen into a troubled sleep. She was dreaming of being buried up to her neck in sand, thick with broken seashells. A fragment was digging into her arm. She woke with a start and, searching for the source of very real pain, found her gemstone brooch amidst the folds of the sheets near her elbow. She placed it on the small bedside table next to the small bottle of excellent whiskey Reginald had procured for her.

Deciding it was a safer bet to drink than sleep, she poured herself two fingers and downed half of it in one go. If he were going to come, he would have done it already. She swallowed the rest of her drink and poured another. A soft knock came from door. She hesitated. A second knock came and Phryne got up, not bothering to put on her robe. "Jack?" she whispered hopefully, as she opened it a crack.

"Miss Fisher? No. It's Reg."

The door swung wide and Phryne stood there, frozen by surprise and utter disappointment.

Reginald, the bell boy, stood there in a suit that was slightly too small for him with a champagne bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. He looked her up and down in her pajamas with a rapturous look on his face.

"I admire your pluck, Reginald. But, I'm afraid not!" She closed the door in his face and proceeded to drain the amber liquid from her glass. Within a minute, there was another knock.

"Reginald, this is highly inappropriate and if you don't cease..." She flung the door open, face flushed with irritation, and found herself face to face with Jack Robinson.

A trace of a teasing smile played on his face. She noticed that he held the champagne bottle and glasses in one hand.

"Another unsuspecting man,” bemused Jack. “You're trouble no matter where you go," the corner of his mouth finally turning upwards.

She snatched the provisions from him and set them down, harder than she meant to. She felt wrong-footed and compensated with her usual brand of robust self-confidence, "I can't help it people find me irresistibly charming."

"Certainly not, Miss Fisher," Jack agreed, stepping over the threshold and quietly shutting the door. "It's something I'll have to learn to live with." His expression grew serious.

"No longer afraid of breaking?" doubt clouded her voice.

She raised her eyes to his face and stood there silently, patiently awaiting his answer. He bridged the distance between them and she recognized the longing in his warm eyes.

"I think you're worth the risk."

Slowly, Jack raised a hand to her face and traced her lips gently with the pad of his thumb. Despite the shiver that ran through her, she remained passive – it had to be his decision. He cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned down to her, pausing for a moment – noses nearly touching – searching her eyes for consent. Ages ago, in a fit of duty and passion, he had forcibly taken Phryne's kiss and did not wish to do so again.

She simply breathed his name and hoped it adequately conveyed her feelings.

Jack felt the last of his hesitation melt away with the warmth of her breath and the sound of his name vibrating over him. He pressed his lips to hers. For all the times he had recalled that stolen kiss, no memory could live up to the softness of her lips, the heat of her mouth.

He kissed her gently, tasting the whiskey on her. Jack had waited so long for this moment, he wanted to savor it. His deliberateness made her ache but, Jack would not be rushed. He held her firm and continued his exploration, barely brushing her tongue with his. Phryne moaned into his mouth, twisting her hands around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. He pulled back instead, pausing to read her face. Though he was buoyed to see that her hunger matched his own – maybe even surpassed it - Jack was determined not to allow his baser instincts dictate the pace.

"I should go." His voice was like gravel, low and straining against the desire he felt.

"You should stay," Phryne cajoled. Her hands slid down his chest and fingers tugged at his shirttails.

Looking for a weakness, she settled on a spot just below his jaw and kissed it, tongue moving deftly over the sensitive skin. He shuddered and she continued the assault on his neck, kissing and nipping until his hands were tangled in her hair. Meanwhile, her hands succeeded in making their way under his shirt. Her fingers lighted over his skin. It was hot to the touch and she felt its smoothness of his back turn to ripples of gooseflesh as she stroked him.

"Phryne!" finally came the hoarse reprimand. She had been expecting it much sooner and was delighted that she had been able to derail him from his intent for so long.

"Yes, Jack," she answered in her softest, silkiest voice, her lips just brushing the underside of his chin, hands wandering down to his trousers. She knew it was too soon for Jack to do anything more than pet with a clear conscience. But, it was a game she enjoyed playing too much to resist.

Unable to think clearly with her hands on him, he pulled away. "I don't want it to begin like this."

"Like what?" she asked in mock innocence.

"Like a clandestine affair. In a rented room, of all places!"

"I know you want to do the honorable thing, Jack. But,..." She climbed onto the bed, kneeling provocatively. "...doesn't gallantry demand that you give a lady what she wants."

He was watching her dumbstruck, mouth agape. Phryne dissolved into a fit of giggles and he realized she was having a go at him. She sat up on the bed and patted the edge for him to join her. Flashing her a skeptical look, he obliged.

His cheeks coloured as he tried to explain, "I want to, Phryne. I do. But, I need to take it slow."

"Define slow."

"Faster than a milk cart, slower than your driving?" he suggested, the corner of his mouth twisting upward again.

"Fine. But, I reserve the right to take the wheel."

"I wouldn't want it any other way," he told her earnestly - surprising even himself by admitting this.

"Am I allowed to kiss you now?" she teased, thinking her idea of a kiss covered a lot of terrain.

Their eyes met until he dropped his gaze to her lips and then, lower still, taking all of her in. Her sloping neck, her alabaster shoulders, the curves of her figure - barely concealed by the thin layer of silk, her bare feet. _Cleopatra herself would have been jealous,_ he thought. Phryne watched him admire her and felt something stir deep within her. When he had looked for long enough, he met her gaze once more. She was flushed now. Her eyes, almost black, intensely aroused. Taking great care, and never breaking eye contact, she slowly pulled herself onto his lap. Her hands slid from his muscular shoulders up his neck, fingers twisting in his hair. She felt the sudden warmth of his hands through her silk pajamas, inching up her hips.

How many times had she found herself in this repose? Situated just above him? His gaze fluttered between her eyes and her lips, as he waited for her to take the wheel as she had promised. He was submissive to her, as the position always demanded of him and she found it utterly intoxicating. She bucked her hips gently, exerting a delicious pressure on him. When his mouth parted to groan she covered it with hers, deepening her kiss until she couldn't breathe. His hands snaked up her back and he met her intensity. She hummed her approval into his mouth.

How long it went on this way, Jack didn't know. In Phryne's arms, time lost all meaning. Dizzy with exhaustion, he warily agreed to stay what little remained of the night in her room. "Jack," she had persuaded, "Think of the scandal you'll cause me if you're seen leaving my room in the middle of the night!" Lights extinguished, Phryne nestled underneath the duvet - per Jack's insistence - while he slept on top of it in his day clothes. Lulled by the rhythmic sound of Phryne's breathing, he was asleep in an instant. She was tired, too, but her body crackled with a kind of electricity that made it difficult for her to settle.

She watched him for a while, his chest rising and falling with his breath, his face perfectly content - a sight she had not witnessed in many months. The urge to be nearer to him suddenly overwhelmed her. Phryne kicked off the down blanket and laid beside him. Slowly, she pushed her hips back until they nudged his thigh. Nothing. Wiggling as far as she dared, her back facing him, she nudged him again. He uttered a growl and moved so quickly, she was startled. Phryne's breath caught in her throat. Her heart was pounding. Part of her hoped he would ravish her right then and there. His arm wound around her as he rolled toward her and pulled her close, covering her body with his own. But, Jack had not woken up. The weight of his body soon quieted the nervous energy she felt and Phryne dropped into a deep, luxurious sleep, wrapped up tight in Jack's arms at last.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne takes Jack on an adventure into the Gippsland Forest

Despite the fact that Jack woke feeling more rested than he had in months, something was missing. His body panged at her absence. Reaching for her, he found only pillows and the bulky duvet that was to serve as a gatekeeper, of sorts. The memory of Phryne's form under his must have been a dream.

An enticing aroma steamed from a covered tray on a silver cart, a handsome coffee pot gleamed next to it. The curtains had been flung open and mid-morning sun flooded the room. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust and scanned the room for her. She wasn't there. Probably just as well. He was having a devil of a time quelling the idea of throwing her down on the bed just to experience the heady sensation of her beneath him that he was imagining.

Reluctantly, he put his feet to the floor and realized he had slept in his shoes. He had not trusted himself - let alone Phryne - to remove a single article of his clothing last night. Shaking his head, he rose and made for the silver cart. A handwritten note on hotel stationery informed him that his admirable powers of self-restraint deserved a good breakfast and that Phryne would be back soon. At the bottom, it read, _Apologies for the coffee - the staff know I don't drink tea in the morning._ Smiling to himself, he poured a cup and tucked in.

Jack had finished his breakfast and straightened the bed. _Still no Phryne._ Deciding he could really do with a change of clothes, he cautiously cracked the door. When the hall was clear, he stepped out as innocently as he could manage. Back in his own room, he noticed that the maid had been in to draw the curtains and leave a fresh pitcher of water for the wash basin. Surveying the still-made bed and the unpacked trunk, he hoped she was discrete. He washed and was pulling on fresh trousers when he heard a click at the door, just managing to zip them up before Phryne burst into the room.

"Miss Fisher!" he reprimanded in a hostile whisper. "You could knock, for a change."

But, his irritation at her lack of propriety quickly dissipated when he noticed that her defiant expression had glazed over at the sight of him in his current state of undress. Jack, while an attractive man, had rarely had the experience of a woman looking at him with pure lust.

Phryne recovered her voice, "I'm glad to see you're finally up, Inspector."

She wore a bright crimson coat, a black wool skirt and black leather boots and took three long strides over to him, pulling off a red glove as she did so. Her hands deftly made it past his protesting arms and trailed down the sides of his ribcage. He lost his breath and his body remembered the ache it had felt for her. He had to stop this now while he still had the willpower - another minute under her touch and his best intentions would crumble. _Distraction,_ he thought, was his best hope.

Deciding swiftly, he took her in his arms and kissed her hard, forcing his tongue past her lips to slide over hers. A small moan escaped her and he seized his chance. Grabbing her wrists firmly, he pinned them behind her and frog marched her to the door. Before forcing her through, he kissed her again whispering into her mouth, "Nice try. See you in a moment." Quite proud of himself, he continued to dress and enjoyed the rush he felt at beating her at her own game.

Phryne was dazed for only a moment. Her breath was heavy and she felt her desire pulse in her core. A devilish smile cracked her face as she unlocked her door, leaving it to swing open, and added a fluffy towel to an already overstuffed basket. Needing to use her pent up energy, she began packing her things back into her trunks.

Standing on the threshold, Jack rapped on the open door. He had already decided that he would not tease her about what just happened, "Thank you for breakfast." He was on pins and needles waiting to see how she would respond but, she only looked up sweetly at him. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. But then noticing her trunks lying open, he became alarmed. "You're leaving?"

She smiled reassuringly at him, "I thought we might go back together." She pulled two tickets from her handbag and handed them to Jack.

"This is the night train. First class tickets," he said, puzzled.

"Is that a problem?"

"Only one compartment," his voice strained.

Glints of amusement danced in Phryne's eyes. "I think we share very nicely." She glanced toward the bed and smiled slyly at him. "Anyway," she redirected as she snatched the tickets back from his hand, "That gives us the afternoon to take in the sights."

"Sights? What sights?"

"For heaven's sake, Jack. We're in the Gippsland Forest!"

"I didn't take you for a country girl," Jack goaded her.

She refused the bait. "What can I say? I am at one with nature."

"That's because _you_ are a force of nature."

She beamed at him. To Phryne, it was the perfect compliment.

With the desk clerk's help, Phryne sent her trunks (and Jack's - under her name), to the train depot for loading on the night train to Melbourne. Unencumbered, with the exception of a large picnic basket, Jack flagged down a cab. The cabbie was taken aback when Phryne stepped forward to negotiate the fare. But, she used her persuasiveness and inside know how - thanks to Cec and Bert - and soon had him eating out of the palm of her hand.

"Perfect!" she exclaimed to Jack. When the jalopy went passed the main forest entrance, Jack opened his mouth to take exception but Phryne patted his thigh and addressed the cabbie, "Just up here." She pointed a finger at an opening in the forest, "At that trailhead." The cabbie handed Jack the basket and pledged to return.

"Why would he agree to that?" Jack's asked in obvious skepticism.

"Probably for the very sizable fare I promised him," Phryne replied with a cheeky shrug.

Jack followed her up the rough path. It was clear she was on a mission of some sort, though he couldn't think what. All the same, he couldn't help but notice how lovely she looked, bounding up the path, cheeks already flushed pink with the cool fresh air, dark hair fluttering in the breeze under her black beret. Once surrounded by the stands of trees, all their senses were alive with the forest. Soon, Jack was gulping lungfuls of the air, rich with the smells of loamy earth and moss.

"How much further?"

"Shouldn't be far, now." Twigs and leaves crackled under their feet. "Here! It's here." Phryne led the way into a small clearing, nearly undetectable from the path as it was concealed by a thick stand of red gums. Shrouded on all sides by dense thickets, the clearing felt like a secret chamber.

The sunlight seemed to fall in individual beams, broken up as it was by the thick overhead canopy of branches and leaves. Large ferns flourished and grew in groupings, their lacy leaves buoyed by the breeze. Bright yellow fungi dotted the forest floor. Patches of thick, green moss felt like clouds beneath their feet. In the middle of the grove was a pond and its glassy surface reflected the canopy. Phryne stood there, enchanted by the illusion that the earth was turned upside down.

The idyllic place seemed to transform her and move her to a dreamlike state. The muscles in her face softened, her eyes glazed over, and she felt her whole body became supple. Her only thoughts at that moment were of Janey _\- she would have loved it here -_ and imagined herself as a child, being chased by her sister through the trees. The sounds of their laughter echoed loudly in her ears.

Jack turned about, taking it all in. It was one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen, in no small part because she was there with him. He walked over to her - not wanting to disrupt but, to be present - and placed his hand at the small of her back. In a small, breathless voice she said, "Kiss me, Jack." He did not need to be asked twice. Keeping one hand at her back, he pulled her up to his mouth and nested his other hand in her hair. She seemed outside of herself, uncharacteristically passive, as tiny whimpers issued from her throat as Jack's kiss aroused her. Her knees began to buckle and Jack caught her before she could hit the ground.

"In the basket. There's a blanket," she directed him throatily. He spread the blanket over the ground so she could sit. Instead, she pulled off her beret and laid back to gaze up at the glorious canopy. Jack was worried that she might be ill but, her eyes were bright and her lips parted in a faraway smile. Her hair, usually so perfect, spread out messily and the black obelisk earrings she wore fell astride her head. She unbuttoned her crimson coat languidly, eventually revealing a sliver of cream coloured silk. She wrenched her eyes away from the sky for a moment to survey Jack, who was watching her with a rather odd expression. She reassured him with a look and tugged down on his lapel before returning her gaze upward.

Jack was self-conscious about being out in the open but, he could not resist the sight of her laying there, mesmerized by whatever magic this place seemed to hold for her. He laid down beside her, propping himself up on an elbow and gently dipped his free hand beneath her coat. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before returning them to the canopy. He did not take his eyes off her as he moved his hand over the slippery fabric of her blouse, across her belly and up her sternum. Her breath was quickening. He leaned over her and kissed the hollow of her throat and ran his tongue along her exposed clavicle and she sighed so deliciously, he felt himself shudder at the sound.

His lips left a trail of butterfly kisses along her throat and jaw, just brushing her skin. Arching her neck, she hummed in pleasure and stroked his disheveled hair with such a light touch, it could have been the breeze if not for her fingernails lightly grazing his scalp and neck. Jack's spine froze and he felt both jealous and in awe of her ability to make his body respond so violently.

He eased away from her, just far enough away to be able to observe her clearly yet close enough to create the tension he craved. His finger followed the lines of her open coat, from her collarbone down her chest and along her abdomen, following it down as far as he could reach, down her pelvis and along her thigh and was rewarded with a series of whimpers and gasps which continued as he made his way back up the other side. He peeled back the lapel of her coat that was closest to him and, for the first time, brushed the curve of her breast with his fingers. She inhaled sharply. Tracing featherlight circles on the soft mound of her breast, he coaxed a nipple to harden without touching it.

Jack watched with rapt attention as Phryne's breath grew more ragged and her eyes spent more time closed now, than open - the sight and sounds of her responding to his touch, taxing his patience and intensifying his arousal in ways he had never felt before. After checking to make sure they were completely alone, he brought his mouth down over the silk, grazing her nipple with his teeth. He knew she had not expected it. She cried out his name and her eyes flew open wide. "Shhh!" he admonished but, was secretly pleased that he could elicit such a reaction from her. He cupped her and kissed her through the silk as his fingers gently stroked the sensitive area around her breast and under her arm until she was shivering.

Fingers splayed across his jaws and ears, she brought Jack's face up to hers. Their eyes locked and she turned on her side to face him but, it was only for leverage. With one swift movement, she had rolled Jack on top of her and began kissing him with open-mouthed abandon, her fingers twisting in his hair. The weight of his body exerted a gorgeous pressure against hers and when she gently bucked her hips, amplifying the ache in her core, she heard him lose his breath.

The feeling of her underneath him was exquisite but Jack feared that he would lose control and embarrass himself if they carried on much longer. "Phryne," he croaked, "Please."

She was used to men begging but, only Jack would be begging her to stop. She pressed a last kiss to his mouth then grabbed his wrist to read his watch before allowing him to gently roll off her. "We still have plenty of time."

Jack was still breathing hard, "Plenty of time for what?" He noticed the dreamy expression she wore had gone and she looked every bit her energetic, mischievous self.

She didn't answer. Instead, she teased him, "You certainly know how to frustrate a girl, Inspector. If I were home, I'd have to take a cold bath."

"Ah! But you aren't home, Miss Fisher." retorted Jack, a part of him deeply gratified to know he wasn't the only one whose restraint was at its breaking point.

Her eyes darted to the pond then back to Jack.

"No." But before he could grab her, she was on her feet.

Phryne chose a long broken branch from the floor and carefully inched around the water's edge, dipping the branch to determine the pool's depth. Then, she stirred up the water, hoping to dislodge any less than friendly creatures from it. Happy with her assessment, she sauntered back to Jack, who looked mortified.

"Phryne, no. It's not safe."

She ignored him, and let her coat slide down her shoulders and arms very slowly and placed it carefully on the blanket then began to unbutton her blouse.

"You don't know what could be in there!"

"But, you're here. You'll protect me, won't you?" she teased him, knowing the idea of protecting her from harm would be too much for him to resist and watched with satisfaction as a deep flush began to creep up his neck. She pulled off her boots and shimmied out of her skirt and stockings.

Before Jack knew what happened, Phryne was standing there in a full white silk slip, her back to him.

"You can't be serious," he hissed at her. "What if somebody sees?"

"I would feel badly for them. It is difficult to see something you want, but can't have." Her mocking tone was impossible to misunderstand. He thought of that morning at the hotel, himself bare-chested, pushing her out of his room and how unlike her it had been to make no fuss about it. This was to be his punishment.

Graceful white fingers reached up to her shoulders and guided the thin straps of the slip down her arms. The filmy fabric slid down her body, pooling at her feet. Stepping out of it and onto a thick carpet of moss, she was ethereal. Her alabaster skin shone in the dappled sunlight and Jack's eyes followed the long line of her spine down to her hips, taking in the sensuous curves of her derriere and legs. She could feel his gaze on her and it warmed her skin against the cool breeze as she made her way to the pond. She waded in carefully, so as not to fracture the surface, the water chilling her toes, then ankles, then knees. When the water reached her waist, she lost her breath. Finally, she plunged herself in up to her shoulders and moaned at the sensations of the cold water forcing her muscles to contract while numbing her nerves at the same time.

When she emerged, she did so slowly, her eyes clear and sparkling, completely unabashed in her nudity. Jack's mouth dropped as he saw the water swirl around her breasts, nipples erect with the cold. Her smooth skin had turned to gooseflesh and water droplets glittered in the dark nest of hair between her thighs. He was overwhelmed by the sight of her and had the impression of a fierce goddess springing from the depths of the pool. Within seconds, he on his feet at the edge of the pond. Sharp pangs of desire stabbed him and he felt incapable of coherent thought as his arousal strained against his trousers.

She reached for his hand to help her out of the water and though she was cold, it was Jack who was trembling. Pressing her wet body to him, she ran her hand up the back of his neck and elicited a spasm from him. "Good." she whispered in his ear, brushing her lips against it for only a moment before walking past him to gather the towel from the wicker basket. Phryne dried off and dressed quickly before pulling more provisions from the basket - bread, ham, cheese and the champagne bottle and glasses which had been relieved from that overzealous bell boy. Pouring herself a glass, she drank it in two large gulps to help ward off the chill she felt. Jack was meandering around the pond, decidedly not looking at her. She knew he was trying to calm himself down and hoped he wasn't too cross with her - she had seen the fire in his eyes when she had stepped out of the pond.

Jack wandered to the edge of the wood. Looking out into the dark copse of trees, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, unsure of how much more he could take before he cracked. He knew it was a game she loved to play - even from the start. An innuendo here, an inappropriate touch there. Getting a little too close for comfort - his comfort. Testing his resolve. She pushed him beyond the limits of desire that even he thought himself capable of feeling. Truth be told, he enjoyed it. Drawing it out, the anticipation, the waiting. _It was different now - the moment would come._ Whatever his reasons, he simply preferred not to rush it. Calmed by this thought, he returned to her side.

She teased him no more, offering him a plate of food instead. He accepted it with a playful smirk and ate heartily. After checking Jack's watch again, they packed up the basket and took a long, last look around the clearing. Phryne had wandered over to a large fern and was brushing the fine leaves with a gloved finger.

Sensing her mood had changed again, Jack moved behind her. "What is it?"

She smiled wistfully and looked out over the clearing. "Just saying goodbye."

He wrapped his arms around her and they stood there silently for a long while. She turned and kissed him tenderly before urging, "Come on, or we'll be late!" They found the path easily and the hike back down to the road went by much faster this time.

The rusty black cab was waiting for them and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. In the backseat, Phryne tentatively rested her hand on top of Jack's, wondering if he would find the display of affection inappropriate. To his credit, he did not flinch or chastise, _Miss Fisher!_ Instead, he allowed a rare smile to drift across his face.

At the station, Jack cornered a porter to ensure Phryne's trunks had been loaded on the train, flashing his credentials as he did so. "I do enjoy a man with authority," Phryne cooed at him, taking his arm as he cut his eyes at her. They boarded the train and Jack slunk away to the dining car as the Conductor showed Phryne to her compartment.

She eventually joined him at the table, having traded her crimson coat for an ornate, fringed shawl and the black beret for a sparkling hair ornament. His discomfort was obvious, this being their first foray in public since their coupling. She leaned toward him over the table and whispered, "Don't worry Jack, I'm not going to take you over dinner." He reddened but a smile twisted at the corner of his mouth at the thought.

The waiter cleared his throat to announce his arrival and Jack was discomposed but recovered long enough to order dinner.  
"Tell me about your last case," she prodded him.

"You'll have your nose in my case files soon enough," Jack rebuffed. He knew she was trying to engage him in easy conversation but, had no wish to recount the last few painful weeks. Instead, he asked her about something he found intensely curious. "Why don't you tell me what came over you in that forest."

"You know me, Inspector," she leaned in, her voice low, "Any excuse to unshackle the bonds of propriety," and she tugged suggestively at the corner of her shawl.

He pursed his lips, "As if you needed an excuse. And, that's not what I meant."

Phryne smirked at him - always delighted at how well he knew her.

"Phryne... the clearing," he pushed and his eyes were warm and curious.

She dropped her gaze and her playful expression turned wistful. "Well... I found it. I had gone for a walk - to clear my head. I was following the path and... something... I don't know. Caught my eye."

Jack understood. A detective by trade, it was his business to notice what others overlooked. Phryne Fisher's ability came naturally.

"It felt like I had discovered..."

"Paradise?" Jack asked earnestly.

"Well, it would be if you added a champagne fountain," she added, to lighten the mood but he fixed her with a look. "I can't explain it. I felt like a child and I felt..." Tears shone in her eyes but yet, she smiled, "I felt..."

"Your sister." he finished knowingly, his voice nearly a whisper.

She felt so tenderly toward him at that moment, she thought her heart might break. Unable to speak, she nodded her head a fraction of an inch and composed herself. "It was her spirit, Jack," she finally managed and she smiled wider at the thought.

"And you brought me there." It was a statement, not a question. He understood the significance. Perhaps it was because Jack felt anonymous in the sea of passengers or because the waiter was pointedly ignoring them or simply because his feelings for Phryne at that moment overpowered his inclination for propriety, so he leaned around the side of the table and reached for her hand. Watching as her eyes grew soft, he pulled her towards him and kissed her softly. To his great surprise, it was Phryne who blushed.

"A-HEM!" The agitated water announced his presence and set down their plates once they managed to separate.

Jack tucked in with Dionysian abandon and she realized how much she enjoyed watching him eat, suspecting it was a quality that extended to the bedroom. The conversation flowed easily between them and Jack rhapsodized about his boyhood love of locomotives.

"The last time we were on a train together, Inspector, you weren't so keen on me," Phryne reminded him.

"Don't be so sure."

"I was your worst nightmare," she prodded.

"I wouldn't go that far, Miss Fisher. Though you were disrespectful... arrogant... manipulative..." he counted off.

She clucked her tongue at him but looked amused all the same, "Don't forget brilliant, resourceful and alarmingly attractive."

His gaze seemed to burn though her. "You were," he conceded.

"Nightcap?"

"Perhaps just the one," he teased. "You go first."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who've left kudos and comments on this work. It's so encouraging and keeps me motivated to write more! I'm even attempting a bit of a mystery plot in future chapters - though it's admittedly not my strong suit.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne find their locomotion.

Giving her several minutes lead, he wound his way through the first-class cars which were paneled in dark, gleaming wood. Jack did not encounter anyone else in the car and, sounding a tentative knock first, he slipped in her compartment unseen. When he arrived, Phryne was panting, red-faced and struggling with something.

He looked at her in alarm until she begged him, "Help me get these damned boots off!" Her feet, swollen from the hike and the long day, held fast to the heavy Russian leather.

"This isn't how I thought I'd be helping you undress," Jack goaded. "Didn't think to pack a boot horn?"

Bracing himself, he grabbed hold of a sole and twisted and pulled until the boot came free with a _pop!_ and Phryne up-ended onto the floor. They both erupted in a fit of laughter. The second boot finally came loose and Phryne sighed, wiggling her toes with relief.

She reached out her hand, "Help me up?"

"I've got a better idea," he said and sank down onto the floor across from her, pulling a stockinged foot into his lap.

"Why, Inspector! Touching a lady's foot. _Tsk! Tsk!_ What will people think?"

"I expect that if they knew what else we've done today, they would consider this a moral achievement."

Before she could object any further, he sunk his thumbs into her arch and heard her moan as she seemed to melt back toward the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned in pleasure as Jack pressed into the aching muscles. Her neglected foot throbbed and she offered it enthusiastically when he was done with the first.

His eyes were full of her as he watched her suck in her breath and arch her back at his touch. He caressed her ankle and she sighed heavily, eyes still closed, "Oh, Jack. So many hidden talents."

He picked her up and placed her gently on the banquette. She hummed in satisfaction and he snapped off the light, thinking she might simply drift off to sleep. The darkened landscape was a series of shadows rolling past as the the train brought them closer to home. _Home._

It had been so easy to forget the outside world, sequestered as they had been. But reality flooded back to him as he stared vacantly out into the darkness and with it, a sense of uneasiness.

They would be navigating the boundaries of their professional partnership. _Again._ This was much more his problem than hers, he knew. Phryne had always treated him a bit like a lover during the course of their investigations, anyway. At some point, he would have to disclose the situation to Collins. The young constable deserved to hear it from him but, it was not a conversation the Inspector looked forward to. And what of the rumors? There had already been plenty of idle talk about DI Robinson and his Lady Detective and Jack knew some of the disgruntled men on the force sniped about what they supposed was an amorous affair - not to mention blatant favoritism on the Inspector's part. He had paid them little mind. _But, what about now?_ The thought made his stomach turn. He leaned one arm heavily against the window, bracing himself against the burden of his worries.

He didn't realize she was standing there until she smoothed back the lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. "We'll solve it together. Same as always," she reassured him. He did not look convinced. She surveyed the room and found what she was looking for. The miniature lamp turned on with a _click_ and she covered it with the shawl she wore at dinner. It produced a candlelight glow that created a mirror-like effect in the large plate glass window.

Turning back to him, she shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He opened his mouth to protest but one look from her silenced him. She stripped his torso down to the skin but, did not stroke him or attempt to kiss him. Instead, she removed the ornament from her hair and then her blouse, revealing the top of the white silk slip he remembered from the clearing. Taking her place next to him - though, slightly in front - Phryne raised her eyes to the glass. He followed suit and found what he saw there completely mesmerizing. The two of them, naked limbs, bare, strong and... beautiful. He saw the fierceness of her gaze and it gave him courage. For the first time, he believed they could have a life together.

His reflection raised a ghostly hand to stroke her arm. She leaned into his touch and he moved behind her, all the time watching the glass - astonished at the pleasure he felt at seeing them together in this new way. He reached his hands into her hair, ruffling it as he dragged fingers down the crown of her head to the nape of her neck, along her white shoulders and down the length of her arms to delicate wrists. Her body shivered and her head bowed and arched at his touch, all of it swallowed by his hungry eyes in the reflection. His hands moved to her waist and he let his fingers splay wide across her belly.

She was watching now, too - eyes intent on his hands in the mirrored glass, tracking their movement across her body. She covered one of his with her own and nudged it upward. Her hand fell away as the heat of his touch spread up - slowly up, finally reaching the soft curve of her breast. The heat turned to a lick of flame as he brushed against her nipple. Her gaze was faltering now, eyes fluttering closed as her breath deepened, her hands reaching behind her to grasp him. And still, he watched her in the reflection, throat stretching, pulling down the air, chest rising and falling and his stroking hands rising and falling with it. Her vitality was intoxicating. He felt himself growing more reckless with every passing second.

He moved with an urgency that surprised them both and spun her around, pinning her against the glass with his body, mouth covering hers. Breaking free of his kiss she arched her head back, enticing him to devour her neck. His tongue stroked and stabbed her, teeth grazing the delicate flesh. When he bit down on her shoulder, she cried out and his intention to take things slowly was forgotten. He fumbled for the hem of her skirt and pulled it up, slid a hand under her slip and caressed a stockinged thigh. Everything was a blur of groans and sucking breaths and hot skin. But, when he reached the lace of her garter belt he froze - suddenly realizing he was but inches from her core.

She felt his anxiety immediately. Through panting breaths, she asked, "Have we reached the limit of your delicate sensibilities?"

He blanched. "My sensibilities aren't _that_ delicate," he attempted in a cracked voice.

"Hmm."

Jack broke apart from her and sat heavily on the banquette.

"Jack," her voice was calmer now. "I know you want this to be… _different_. But, it already is - because it's _you_."

He was shaking his head.

"Yes. It _is_ different because it's us, together." She surveyed him carefully. "You're holding back from me."

He clenched his jaw in reproval but, subconsciously, he looked up at her. It was his tell - and she recognized it immediately.

Phryne walked over to the little light and shut it off with a _snap._ They were plunged into near darkness. Only the crescent moon outside lit their compartment with a faint, silvery glow.

"Phryne?" He asked into the dark - until he felt her settle on the floor between his legs. "Phryne!"

"I'll take it from here."

Her fingers nimbly undid the buttons of his trousers but, he grabbed her by the wrists, "No," he panted.

She didn't resist him. Instead, she asked knowingly, "How long has it been, Jack?"

"What?" The shock of the question made him forget to keep hold of her wrists.

"How long has it been?" she repeated. "Have you been with anyone since your... divorce?"

There was a long pause before he finally answered, a little bitterly, "You know I haven't."

"So, it's been... a while since… Since someone's touched you?" she said gently, as she placed her hands delicately on his knees.

A pulse of shame coursed through him. But it was soon quelled by the warm hand that reached up to his cheek, vanquished by the mouth that kissed him so softly.

Finally, he whispered, "Years."

"Let me, Jack. Let me and then, you can take me to your bed when you're ready."

She twined her fingers in his hair and kissed him, more deeply this time, letting her tongue drift over his so slowly that his body began twitch with need. "Let me," she breathed again and gently nestled back down on the floor, dropping kisses along his chest as she went.

This time, he did not protest. She nuzzled against his lean stomach and he heaved a sigh of such contentment, it sent a flame of passion down her spine. With his fingers dancing across the nape of her neck, she stayed there for longer than she intended, exploring and dusting the soft skin with her cheeks and lips.

Her hand fluttered to his lap and lightly caressed his arousal through the the fabric of his trousers. She relished in his gasps and sputters, slowly increasing the pressure with each pass. Finally, she gently drew him out and couldn't help herself from uttering a delighted, "Oh! Jack," at the sight of him. He gave a deep, rumbling moan that sounded like a growl.

The very bedrock of his being turned molten when she took him in her hands. Jack didn't know if he was in heaven or hell - and supposed he didn't care. He only knew that he was connected to her by the fire, and when the firm pressure of her hand was replaced by the warm, wet softness of her mouth, there was no room for thought at all as everything around him burned in a white-hot light until there was nothing left.

It was a long while before he had recovered enough to speak. When he called out for her, she had just slipped in beside him. He could scarcely believe what he had allowed her to do. _No,_ he corrected his thought, _Wanted her to do._

"Phryne," he began in a repentant tone.

"Shhh," she whispered with a soft smile. "You were lovely."

He inclined his face to hers, searching for the slightest trace of mockery in her features. There was none - only her bright, wide gaze and something that looked like esteem - and his guilt fell away.

Dropping his lips to meet hers, he kissed her with the longing he had felt for so many months, a sense of desire - not to take her - but simply to be with her. She began to tremble under the intensity and he pulled her in tighter to his body and held her fast - neither of them wanting him to ever let go.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about the boot was inspired by a passage in the Kerry Greenwood book, 'Murder in Monparnasse' where Phryne and Dot struggle to get her pinching boots off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne return to Melbourne - evolving case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should attempt to weave a mystery fic in with the story. It isn't really my forte so, please bear with me. Also, I'm playing with a different style, trying to incorporate more of the scenes through dialogue.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who have left kudos and feedback! It means the world to me. As always, constructive criticism is welcome!

The lurching of the train woke her. It was still dark. A hurried voice echoed down the hall, "Mechanical difficulty, folks! Nothing to worry about!" and footsteps soon followed past the compartment door.

Phryne's natural urge to follow the signs of trouble was interrupted by the luxurious feeling of large, warm hands running over her. "Didn't choke the smokestack with your stockings, did you Miss Fisher?" Jack vexed her in a lazy voice.

She rolled her eyes, "If I had wanted to trap you on this train, Inspector - believe me - I could have done it easily. It just so happens that I prefer a proper bed."

The banquette had converted to bed of sorts but, it was not especially comfortable nor entirely large enough to accommodate them both. She attempted to turn and face him but nearly fell off the edge, his arms catching around her just in time.

"See?" she said as if she'd done it to prove her point.

"I don't know. It has its advantages," he growled as he nipped down the length of her outstretched arm.

"Jack, No!" And she squealed as he nuzzled in to a particularly ticklish spot.

"I'll have to remember that for future interrogations," he teased her as she wrenched her arm from his grip.

"I can see that you're going to be impossible!" she scolded him but, something in her tone persuaded Jack to take it as a compliment.

Phryne was up now, splashing water on her face at the basin.

"Suppose we should go have a look?" he asked, already knowing the answer as he watched her dress.

 

XXXXXX

 

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson," he told the engineer, pulling his credentials from his pocket. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"No trouble!" shouted another worker. He was much rougher looking than the engineer and soot darkened his coveralls. "Firebox went out is all! Nuthin' a bloody copper can do!"

The Inspector turned his withering gaze on him, "Are you the fireman?"

"Naw! The 'ostler. An' what's she doin' 'ere?" The man pointed a nub of a finger at Miss Fisher.

"She's with me," Robinson said, his voice becoming dangerous. "Name?"

"Payne," the man said, grudgingly and he crossed his arms as if to ward off further questions.

"Sir," the nervous engineer addressed the officer respectfully. "If we can just get the boiler going again...? We're only a few miles outside Melbourne."

The Inspector was inclined to agree to allow the train to resume normal operations - once the fireman returned. That is, until he spotted Miss Fisher in his peripheral vision. Something in her stance made him stifle his response. He trusted her keen observation.

Phryne had been uncharacteristically quiet thus far - content to let the Inspector take charge of a presumed mechanical failure. But, she had spotted something out of place amongst the coal ash and was crouching low in front of the mouth of the firebox. "Inspector?"

"Will someone get that sheila outta 'ere!" the man named Payne bellowed from his corner.

The Inspector held up a hand to silence him and bent down next to his lady detective. His gaze followed her pointed finger to where a fragment of something white glinted against the piles of gray dust.

"It looks like bone," she endeavored in a quiet voice.

"Hand me that shovel."

Phryne reached for the firebox shovel, her shoe slipping in the dust and grit, and placed a hand on Jack's thigh to steady herself.

He let out a fierce breath and felt his face burn. "Don't do that," he whispered to her.

"Don't do what?" And she looked quizzically at him, until his eyes dropped to her hand - still unconsciously clutching his leg.

"Oh!" she breathed and pulled her hand back but, her eyes glittered with delight. "My apologies, Inspector."

Taking the shovel from her with a censuring look, he scooped out the curious object. With a gloved hand, Miss Fisher pulled the white fragment out of the dust. It was a tooth.

"Look at this," Jack said. Gray grit stuck to a dark substance on the blade of the shovel. Pulling out a handkerchief, he dabbed at it. Blood.

"I don't think we'll be going anywhere, just yet," the Inspector said grimly.

 

XXXXXX

 

The Inspector squinted at the engineer, sizing him up. He was short, wiry man with thinning reddish-blonde hair in need of trimming. His hands bore the signs of physical labor and his eyes held genuine concern. The DI's earlier interview with the conductor indicated that he was also regarded as competent and reliable. There was just one problem.

"Where is your fireman, Mr. Daly?"

"I don't know." He answered nervously. "He's not in any of the usual places."

"Usual places? I thought the fireman had to work under the direct supervision of the engineer."

"Yes, but... Well, we worked this route for ages, Tim 'n me. He's had a hard time of it the last few months."

"How do you mean?"

"Seemed a bit agitated. Worried, maybe. I dunno. We're mates but, we didn't talk about it. Just that, he said he wasn't sleepin' and needed to go off and have a kip."

"So, you took over the firebox..." led Miss Fisher.

"Yes. But, not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Payne said he thought one of the levers was sticking so, I went 'round to have a look. But, Tim was still tending the box when I left. Didn't think he'd go off and leave the bleedin' thing!"

The Inspector was making his notes as they talked and a shared look between himself and Miss Fisher confirmed that neither believed this man was involved in any wrongdoing. "I'll need to take a look at that lever, before I let you go, Mr. Daly."

"Yes, sir." Daly looked to the Inspector for permission before rising and then gestured for him to follow. Getting up to do just that, the Inspector was suddenly overcome with a crazy idea. "Up to a challenge?" he quietly asked Miss Fisher.

"You know me, Inspector." Her gaze wavered between his eyes and his mouth - as it so often did when he said something that enticed her.

"See if you can use any of that irrepressible charm of yours on Mr. Payne."

She accepted the job with a flash of her eyes and the Inspector went off after the engineer.

 

XXXXXX

 

"I'm sorry, madame! No one is allowed to leave at this time! I'm sorry!" Constable Collins was making his way through a crowd of irritated passengers to the dining car, where the Inspector had set up shop. The body of Timothy Donovan had been found some miles back, not far from the rails.

"Sir! I thought you were still on leave!" Collins addressed his boss with concern but he smiled nonetheless. He was always happy to work with his mentor.

"I was. But, I'm back on duty now, I suppose. I need you to take statements from the passengers. I've already spoken with the conductor and the engineer and Miss Fisher is... Ah! Miss Fisher!"

Phryne sashayed into the engine room, "Hello Hugh! So much for trains. Next time, I'll take the Hispano."

"M-Miss Fisher," Collins acknowledged politely but, his eyes were wide and his mouth had parted in surprise.

"As I was saying, Collins. Miss Fisher was warming up the hostler for me, a Mister Melvin Payne."

Collins grew increasingly puzzled at the pair of them. Since when did Miss Fisher _warm up_ anybody for questioning? The sound of those words alone made him flush. He addressed himself to the Detective Inspector, "So, you... and Miss Fisher...?"

"As luck would have it, Hugh, the Inspector and I happened to be on the same train," Phryne interrupted.

Collins turned around and gawked at Miss Fisher, meanwhile Jack cut his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly in cynical amusement.

"Statements, Collins."

"Uh. Yes, Sir."

After the Constable had left the compartment, Phryne shared the details of her little chat with Payne. "The man is foul."

"I've little doubt..." agreed the Inspector

"And he knows something. He's hiding it."

"I suspect he's hiding quite a lot. He's a little old to be a hostler. That's a junior position."

"He said he grew weary of the docks. This was the only job he could find."

"Mmm. Well, the lever did appear to be jammed - intentionally or not."

"So, it looks like Mr. Daly's in the clear."

"Seems that way. It's going to be a while before my men are done collecting evidence. But, once we clear the passengers, you'll be free to go home."

"What's your point?"

"My trunk was stowed under your name," he quietly reminded her.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it safe," she murmured, sliding her pinky finger steathily down his before turning on her heels and heading back into the throng.

 

XXXXXX

 

It was well into the afternoon before the train was finally shunted to the Flinders Street Station and the passengers and crew released. Phryne had decided to take a car back to St. Kilda but, before she left, she cornered Jack in an empty compartment. She gave him a dazzling smile and pressed uncomfortably close, given that the train was now crawling with his junior officers.

"Miss Fisher! I really didn't expect we'd be at it again so soon."

"It was only a matter of time, Inspector."

He wasn't sure if she was referring to their case or their coupling and guessed it applied, either way and took a step back from her. "Uh, Phryne. I'm not ready to broadcast... ah..." He was definitely referring to the latter. Jack was feeling his way through this new arrangement as he went and certainly didn't want or need an audience.

"There goes the piece I was writing for the society pages," she teased and was rewarded with the positively contentious look he threw her.

"Don't fret, Jack. I'll simply tell everyone the truth. That you've properly groveled for my forgiveness and begged me to assist you with your case."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation - though not surprise - that she had already thought up this explanation.

"And being a champion of justice, I agreed to...lend a helping hand." She closed the gap between them once more, slipping a hand beneath his coat and splaying her fingers wide across his flank.

"Is that what you call this?" he asked, glancing down, his breath coming a little too quickly.

"An innocent omission that we'll keep to ourselves for now," she replied, the familiar devilish fervor lighting up her face as her fingers stroked.

"Not so innocent," his voice was gruff.

"No," she breathed back.

Loud footfalls were headed their way and Phryne jumped back from him before two of the Inspector's constables strode past.

"You'll keep me informed, Inspector?" she asked in a professional voice.

"If there's anything that concerns you directly Miss Fisher, I'm quite certain the Victoria Police will be in touch," he said for the men's benefit. Once they passed, Jack added, "And, I'll do one better than that. Perhaps you might convince Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates to assist with the surveillance of that hostler?"

Phryne Fisher was gobsmacked. "You're actually asking for their help?"

Jack took a moment to commit her shocked look to memory before cocking his eyebrow at her. "Let's just say I recognize their value. Payne worked at the docks - they'll be able to get a lot closer to him than we will. But only surveillance."

She couldn't imagine what had come over him - and the impulses of her brain that were telling her to ask were fighting with the ones that wanted her to push him up against that compartment wall and kiss him until he begged for mercy. Her body compromised by sending a creeping flush up her neck while seemingly paralyzing her. He watched her with an amused, self-satisfied expression and - checking the coast was clear - landed a light kiss on the tip of her nose before departing.

 

XXXXXX

 

Amidst all the chaos, Phryne had forgotten to call ahead to let Mr. Butler know of her arrival. She was secretly relieved to find no one there - it simply made things easier. She tipped the cabbie handsomely to help her with her trunks and load Jack's into the boot of the Hispano Suiza.

Longing for a hot bath, she made her way upstairs - allowing herself to wonder as she went past, just how long it might be before she could have her way with Jack in that armchair by the fire. She washed and dressed with leisure, allowing her mind to drift through the whirlwind of the past few days. Jack Robinson had proven to be a mystery, all right.

Despite her sharply honed instincts, he was one of the few people who could surprise her. Hints came along the way, of course. The cited Shakespeare, a stolen embrace, even a confession of caring for her. But even these revelations could not convey the depths to which his censured passions stirred below his buttoned up appearance. She shivered as she remembered the feeling of his hands on her, his mouth... _Really, Phryne! Get a grip on yourself._ Chuckling softly, she pulled herself back into reality and the case that was looming in front of them.

Finally settling on the chaise with a cup of tea, Phryne considered everything Jack had told her about his interview with Melvin Payne. Bert and Cec had agreed to stop by in the morning but, at the sound of the kitchen door slamming shut, she thought they might have decided to come sooner.

"Miss! I apologize! I didn't expect you." The butler in Mr. Butler was appalled that his employer had come home to an empty house but, the man in him was appalled that she had returned home so soon. He thought it certain Inspector Robinson was headed for Bairnsdale.

"It's alright, Mr. Butler. I can manage - though not nearly as well as when you're here," she said warmly.

 _She looks well,_ Tobias thought, assessing her carefully, _Still tired, though._ "And your case, Miss? Solved?" he posited.

Miss Fisher noticed with admiration the line Mr. Butler was so skillfully walking.

"Oh yes! But, I'm afraid there's already another on my plate. A man was murdered on the train."

"Oh dear. I expect the... ah, police held you for questioning?"

 _Oh, he's good._ "Yes, it was quite tedious. But, Inspector Robinson and I have come to an understanding."

"An understanding, Miss?"

"He sees the value in my investigative ability and I see the value in keeping tabs on the Victoria constabulary," she replied with an air of unconcern.

"I see." Mr. Butler did his best to hide how disheartened he felt - he really thought he had broken through to the Inspector. But, he took solace in the fact that at least they were on speaking terms again.

"Ah, will the Inspector be joining you for dinner this evening?"

"I expect not."

Phryne had to bite back a laugh as a shadow of disappointment flickered across Mr. Butler's face. It was a bit mean to trick him this way but, she consoled herself with the promise that he would be rewarded for his concern. After all, if it hadn't been for Tobias Butler, she and Jack may have never come to any understanding at all.

"Very good. Welcome back, Miss."

"Thank you, Mr. B."

 

XXXXXX

 

The phone rang late. "Inspector Robinson on the telephone for you, Miss."

"Thank you. _Phryne Fisher!_ "

Knowing Phryne would be able to say little, Jack asked the questions from his end, "Does Mr. Butler suspect...?"

"No, Inspector," she said with convincing irritation.

"Ah. Well, the body's at the morgue and I don't expect the Coroner's Report until tomorrow. But, I did find out some interesting details about our fireman."

Phryne noticed his pointed use of the word _our_ but only replied, "Go on."

"It turns out he was a witness to an attempted bank robbery five years ago, in which a guard was shot and killed."

"He helped convict someone, then? And you suspect this is payback?"

"No. He gave a statement and a description but, the perpetrator was never identified or apprehended."

"Hmm. I expect you're combing through the passenger list."

"Crew, too. Speaking of which, nothing of interest has turned up on Payne, yet. Have you spoken to..."

"We're meeting in the morning."

"Good. But, tell them to keep their distance until we know what we're dealing with."

There was a long silence. "Inspector?"

"Still here. I just feel like I ought have a whiskey."

It was customary for the Inspector and Miss Fisher to share a drink in her parlour, whilst going over the case details. Phryne lowered her head and smiled to herself. She was missing it, too.

"If you feel it's absolutely necessary... I could meet you at the Station."

"Ah, no. It's not that I don't want to..." Jack drew a long, sighing breath and squeezed his eyes shut against the image of Phryne in his arms. But, he was exhausted and in desperate need of a bath and a shave, not to mention clean clothes. "No, I really should get home."

"Suit yourself, Inspector." This time, she didn't have to pretend to be vexed.

"I'll call you tomorrow when I hear from Dr. Johnson."

"Phryne?"

"Yes?"  
"Goodnight, Phryne," he rumbled and she gave a shiver at the sound.

"Goodnight, Jack," she whispered.

Hand still on the receiver, Jack wondered if he had done the right thing. He had half a mind to ring her back up but, caution prevailed. Duty came before desire. It wasn't the first time Jack had to make that choice and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He couldn't lose sight of the case. _The case._ By all rights, it should be his case and his alone. Phryne Fisher had no ties to the deceased nor was she investigating on anyone's behalf. But, he had been inspired to do things a bit differently this time around. Instead of simply looking the other way when the lady detective infiltrated his crime scene and butted into his interrogations, it occurred to him that he could include her from the start.

Following that instinct led him to asking her to debrief Melvin Payne. The regard she had for him in that moment reminded him of their reflection in the compartment glass. Jack resolved to do his best to manage their working partnership in the midst of their fledgling relationship by putting them on equal footing. Inviting Bert and Cec to the table was the clincher. His lips pursed in amusement as he recalled her momentary shock.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More intrigue as Phryne & Jack dig deeper into the death of the train's fireman. Dot lends a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dialogue, folks, along with POV changes. I tried to make things as clear as possible with line breaks eliminating the need for a bunch of 'he said' - 'she said' where it's not necessary. I'm placing a lot of faith in the characters to staying true to themselves so they'll be easily recognizable when you read/hear them.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Hope you enjoy!

"G'day, Miss!" Cec doffed his cap to her in greeting. "How'd you find the lakes?"

By the time Phryne met with Bert and Cec over a late breakfast, Mr. Butler had already conveyed the disappointing results of their own covert mission and they had agreed to speak not a word of it.

"You were right, Cec! They were lovely but, I must confess it was the forest that stole my heart." But at the mention of her heart, she had let herself drift off for a moment.

Bert squinted at her, then threw Cec a look. Cec didn't appear to notice anything out of the ordinary and just shrugged.

"So what's this job you got for us?" Bert asked.

Phryne told them all she knew about the train's hostler, Melvin Payne and the deceased fireman, including his ties to an unsolved murder.

"So don't go putting yourselves in harm's way - we don't know who we're dealing with. Inspector Robinson believes the situation could be volatile."

"What's he got to do with us?" Bert demanded.

Albert Johnson had come to accept his mistress' fondness for the man - even going so far as to play a part in Mr. Butler's ruse to reunite them. But, Jack Robinson was still a cop. And Bert trusted coppers about as far as he could throw his cab.

In the interest of fairness she said, "It was his idea to put you two on this."

That got Cec's attention, "Really, Miss?"

"As I told Mr. Butler, the Inspector has come to appreciate what we bring to the table."

Bert harrumphed but, she thought she could see the estimation of her Inspector rise the tiniest bit in his eyes.

Phryne was bidding the two men adieu when a frantic Dot nearly barreled them over to hug her mistress. "Miss! You're back!"

Bert tried to fix Dottie with look but, she was grinning from ear to ear. "Hugh called me last night but, my mother doesn't have a telephone. I only just got the message this morning."

"I missed you too, Dot," Phryne told young woman earnestly.

"But, what of the Inspector? Hugh said you arrived on the same train!" Dot pressed, hopefully.

Miss Fisher was not prepared for six hungry eyeballs to be suddenly feasted on her (not eight, as Mr. Butler had the decency to pretend he was polishing a serving spoon). "Oh. Yes. It was rather strange that Inspector Robinson was on that train. Perhaps he was following a tip off," Phryne suggested and did her best to seem annoyed. "He could have at least warned me that a would-be killer was aboard. But alas, I suppose it's his gain now that we're on the case."

Dot's face fell. "Oh. I see, Miss."

Phryne hated to mislead Dot this way. At the same time, she was immensely relieved that they had agreed not to disclose their new attachment. _Man after anonymous man in my bed,_ she thought ruefully but, everyone in her life had questions about Jack Robinson.

Ever the optimist, Dot asked, "What can I do to help?"

 

XXXXXX

 

Another day had passed before the Inspector, up to his neck in paperwork, finally received the official Coroner's Report. He went over it out loud in his office at the Station, "The tooth was almost certainly been knocked out by the firebox shovel, by which Donovan also took several blows to the head and neck. Cause of death is listed as blunt force trauma. Other injuries were attributed to his fall from the moving train."

"We already knew that, didn't we, Sir?" Collins asked.

"Not very insightful," the Inspector agreed as he handed the manila file to Miss Fisher. She had made herself comfortable, sitting on the edge of his desk in her usual repose, dressed in black trousers, a black and green deco print blouse and her favorite linen car coat. She wisely sat on the far side of the desk, away from Jack.

"This is curious," she said, looking closely at the black and white photograph clipped to the inside of the folder. "Is the body still at the morgue?"

"As far as I know. Collins?"

Understanding his unspoken orders, Collins went out to the front desk to place the call.

Phryne sifted through the mountains of paper on the Inspector's desk.

"Careful!" he admonished.

She threw him a dirty look and proceeded to flip through the stacks of papers. Passenger background checks, cargo and luggage manifests, trains schedules and workers shifts. "Anything interesting?"

"Not so far. But, I'll be going over it all again tonight, which means..." He gave her a meaningful look.

The disappointment he felt in being separated from her for yet another evening was so obvious, Phryne couldn't even be mad.

Hugh returned to the office and informed them that the fireman's body was still in custody.

"Good. Miss Williams!" the Inspector said.

"Miss Williams, what, Sir?" Collins asked, in alarm.

"I was greeting her, Collins. Behind you."

Dot was standing in the vestibule holding a large basket and trying to look innocent, "I thought you all could do with some lunch."

Collins smiled widely at her, "Thanks Dottie!" and gave her a peck on the cheek as he relieved her of the heavy load.

"Thinks she's playing cupid," Phryne said under her breath to Jack.

"It's sweet, really," he whispered back, that rare smile glancing across his face.

As they ate in Jack's office, Phryne dared not flirt too much for fear of tipping off Hugh and Dot, who were taking their lunch at Hugh's desk in the bullpen. She could almost feel Dot listening. Jack talked business and intimated little else, though his mouth drew down at the corners in amusement as he observed her nervous fidgeting.

Phryne found she was having a more difficult time maintaining the charade of professional distance than he was. Given how long he had been ignoring his feelings, that didn't come as a surprise. What did was that - only now, that she was trying to curb it - Phryne finally realized how much liberty she had grown accustomed to taking with her words and intimate gestures.

 

XXXXXX

 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she hissed at Jack as they got out of his police motor car.

"That would be like telling a leopard to change her spots."

"I am not a leopard!"

"No. You're right. I'd rather have a go at the leopard - it would be less dangerous."

Her lips twisted, attempting to repress a smile. "You liked it," she accused him.

"So did you," he growled back.

Their mood darkened considerably as they entered the morgue. The body of Timothy Donovan had been laid out in advance of their arrival. Jack pulled back the blue tarp to reveal a rather gruesome corpse - broken as it had been by the fall.

"Here, look," Phryne said, pointing to a puckered circular mark on the victim's inner forearm. "And, there's more." She lifted the limb carefully and examined it. More of the strange marks were found, littered across the neck and torso.

Jack flipped through the report, "They're mentioned in passing. Coroner suggests scars of some kind of pox." He peered at the wrinkled skin, "Could be burns. He did tend the firebox. Occupational hazard?"

"But, look at the shape. Each one is perfectly round," she insisted.

The Inspector couldn't help but agree. Each mark was exactly the same size and shape.

"These aren't from spitting coals, Jack. This man was tortured."

"Cigar?" he postulated.

But, Phryne had already dug the shiny golden lighter from her bag and held it in the palm of her hand.

"I don't want to think about how you knew that," Jack said solemnly. It was all too easy to forget that Phryne had come up on the rough side of town.

 

XXXXXX

 

"It's all right, Dottie. I can manage." Hugh told her emphatically, as he tried to take the sheaf of paper from her.

"If the Inspector can accept Miss Phryne's help, why can't you accept mine?" She crossed her arms and all but dared Hugh Collins to rebuff the actions of his revered mentor.

"This is dull," he countered. "Wouldn't you rather be doing something else?"

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do than be with you," Dot said sweetly.

Hugh blushed profusely and consented to letting her help him file the mass of papers on the Inspector's desk into manageable order.

Dot had learned a lot since working for Miss Fisher and she was determined to put it to good use. She ran her finger down every sheet, attempting to cross-reference the passenger and crew logs with the manifests for inaccuracies. She wanted to help with the case but, was intently curious about something else as well.

"This is odd," she said. "It says here that a trunk was never claimed."

Hugh took his note book from his pocket and flipped backwards several pages. "Ah, yes. Constable Mathis investigated but said it was just an empty trunk. The porter said it must have been loaded by accident. Nothing suspicious."

 _Nothing suspicious._ Dorothy wasn't convinced. "But, Hugh..."

"No, Dottie. I know that look."

"What if it's important? Where's the trunk now?"

"According to Mathis' notes, the depot has a 'lost and found' so, it was taken there. But, wait! Dot!"

Dot had gotten to her feet and managed only three steps toward the door before...

"Fine. Okay? We'll finish this first and then go by the station. But, after that, I'm taking you home."

Dot smiled in satisfaction and gave her beau a peck on the cheek before continuing to pour through the manifests. Suddenly, she sucked in her breath.

"You okay, Dottie?"

"Um, yes. Just a paper cut," she crossed her fingers as she told the white lie.

She had spied both the Inspector's and Miss Fisher's names on the passenger list. The manifest showed the Inspector had checked nothing - well, if he was following a suspect as Miss Phryne suggested, that made sense. Miss Fisher was listed as checking three trunks. She closed her eyes and tried to think why that was odd.

 

XXXXXX

 

Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher went over the fireman's body again and discussed theories on possible motives as they waited for the Coroner.

Dr. Johnson looked irritated at being questioned but prepared to re-examine the cadaver nevertheless. It was his job, after all. Thankfully, the Detective Inspector addressed him instead of that maddening woman. Looking back over his personal notes and the report he submitted, he consented, "Yes, they could have been burns."

"Can you tell how old?" Miss Fisher asked him.

The doctor had not exactly grown accustomed to her presence - but rather accustomed to putting up with it - and answered her readily, "Based on the way they've healed, I would say several months."

"About the time Mr. Daly said the fireman started behaving erratically," the Inspector recalled. "Thank you, Doctor Johnson. Please send an amended report to Constable Collins."

As they walked back to the car, Phryne was lost in thought. She was going through the puzzle pieces they had accumulated when a junior officer ran out to them. "Sir! Inspector Robinson! You've had a telephone call." He handed Jack a hastily written message: _Constable Collins - Flinders Street Station. Lost and Found._

"Care to join me?" he asked as he showed Phryne the message.

 

XXXXXX

 

They arrived at the bustling train station and made their way to a wooden counter, tucked into a far corner. Behind the counter was a small room, outfitted with shelves and littered with all manner of junk. On the far side of the room, a metal door led to an outdoor loading dock. Constable Collins waved them over and out to the dock.

To their surprise, they found Dot standing guard over a very large trunk. She was hissing at a porter, "This is police evidence now," in very un-Dot-like tones.

"Don't see a badge," the gangly porter quipped.

"Here comes my badge," Dorothy leveled, pointing at Hugh and the porter backed away but only just, keeping an wary eye on the approaching coppers.

Phryne and Jack exchanged a quick look of bemusement.

"What's going on, Collins?" the Inspector demanded. "Or... shall I ask Miss Williams?"

"Go on," Hugh encouraged Dot.

"Well, we were going over the manifests and realized this trunk was never claimed," Dot explained.

The Inspector looked directly at Miss Fisher as if to say, _This is entirely your doing._

"And it's a good thing we got here when we did, Sir! Because they were just about to release the trunk to him." Hugh pointed at the surly porter.

Pride emanated from Phryne's face. "Excellent sleuthing, you two!"

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Collins! What's in it?"

"That's just it, Sir. It's empty."

Sure enough, Dot opened the trunk to reveal absolutely nothing inside.

"But, we think we've found something else," Hugh ventured to Miss Fisher.

"What, Hugh?"

The Constable led her over to the side of the trunk and pointed out a series of holes punched in a seemingly decorative pattern around one of the handles. Miss Fisher bent down to examine the holes more closely and brushed them with gloved fingers.

"I thought they were strange," Dot said. "There isn't a matching pattern on the other side. But who would do that? Wouldn't water get in and wet their things?"

"It's not water they were worried about, Miss Williams..." the Inspector began.

"It was air." Phryne finished Jack's thought with a wide-eyed look, a satisfied grin inching across her face.

She took a stunned Hugh's arm as she climbed into the trunk and demanded it be closed and locked. "Miss Fisher!" admonished two men's voices in unison. But, Dot was already halfway through her mistress's request. Securing the lid, she clicked the locking bar into place and waited. Faint scratching sounds emanated from the trunk and within minutes, the locking bar popped open and Phryne emerged looking victorious, holding her set of lock picks. Not even Jack could resist offering his hand to help her step out of the trunk, though he attempted to hide his pride with a scowl.

"Good work, Collins. You, too, Miss Williams." Hugh looked delighted, as ever, when the Inspector complimented him but Dot positively beamed.

"Take the trunk into custody and then see Miss Williams safely home. Here, take the car," the Inspector chucked the keys to his police vehicle at the Constable.

"Yes, Sir. What'll you do, Sir?"

Inspector Robinson was already on the move when the porter tried to make a run for it. He might have gotten away, too, if not for that dolly. The porter tripped and landed with a spectacular thud. As he pinned the man's arms, the Inspector replied heavily, "I think I'll stay and have a little chat."

 

XXXXXX

 

Phryne was pacing the dingy lost and found room while Jack leaned against one of the dusty shelves.

She was re-hashing their latest interrogation, "So, the porter saw a man get paid to load the trunk on the train, seemingly full of cargo. No one was the wiser. The murderer hid inside and waited for the proper moment. He could see out of the holes and bided his time until the coast was clear."

"Then he bungled the lever to get Daly out of the way..." Jack interrupted.

"Or had an accomplice to do it for him..."

"And waited until the fireman was alone before he attacked. Then, he got back into the trunk and waited until it was unloaded again before making his escape."

"The empty trunk was left here and the porter claimed it for his own."

Jack looked down at his notes. Russell Gibbons, the porter, had not wanted to identify the man he saw take the money but, his tongue loosened up after being threatened with an accessory to murder charge. _Older. Fellow employee of the rail line. Index finger removed at the knuckle._ There was no doubt about it - it was Payne.

"When do you think we'll have something from Bert and Cec?"

"I'm supposed to meet them," she sauntered over to Jack and looked at his watch, "In an hour." She had not let go of his wrist.

"Miss Fisher,"

"We're quite alone, Inspector."

"The door's ajar. Anyone could walk in," he protested.

Phryne's grip grew stronger as she pulled him closer. "But, you're just doing your job," she cajoled, "Performing a thorough search." Her emphasis on the word _thorough_ had captured Jack's attention - the way she let her tongue linger a little too long between her teeth and the bow she made with her lips. He stared at her mouth until the clanging of a crashed cart out in the cargo bay pulled him out of his reverie. "Damn!" Phryne swore, "Almost had you."

 

XXXXXX

 

As the Inspector had given away their car, they had no choice but to catch the crowded tram to Queen Street. A man jumped up to offer the lady his seat but she politely declined, preferring to stand close to the Inspector under the guise of rush hour. When the tram lurched at the first stop, a protective arm appeared at Phryne's waist but it was gone as suddenly as it appeared once the tram was in fluid motion.

By the third stop, his hand had settled at her back - earning him an almost demure backwards glance from her. They got off at Queen and LaTrobe and walked the block to Little Lonsdale Street, where Phryne had arranged to meet Bert and Cec.

"Don't spare any niceties for me, Inspector," she reminded him when he allowed her to walk just slightly in front of him.

"Don't worry. You just be yourself and I'll be exasperated in no time."

Phryne glared sardonically back at him. They could take no chances in front of Bert, to whom suspicion was as natural as breathing.

In fact, the digger had already been watching the couple in his side mirror, unbeknownst to them. They appeared to be on speaking terms by the looks of it. Robinson didn't appear as downtrodden as he had been, though he wore a stony expression and walked with his hands shoved deep in his overcoat pockets. Miss Fisher, who was in the lead, had just given him a filthy look, at which Bert couldn't help but snigger.

Finally spying the black cab, the pair hailed it and boarded as though they were a regular fare.

"Where to, Miss?" Cec asked of the lady - purely out of habit.

"South Markets," came the man's gruff voice.

"As you please, sir." Cec replied, rolling his eyes at Bert, who rode shotgun.

Once they were on the road and out of earshot of any passersby, the Inspector asked what they had found out about the man called Payne.

Bert turned in his seat to face them but addressed himself to Miss Fisher instead. "Right nasty bloke you got mixed up with, Miss. Bloody violent drunk. We seen 'im throw punches around after he'd had a few too many and pulled a knife when they refused him another drink. Hangs about a dangerous crowd."

"Like who? The mob?" she inquired.

"Nah. Nothin' so organized as that. Just scourge, really - seen a lot of jail time by the looks of it. Most a' them places we been following' 'im, I wouldn't never darken their doors again." Bert wore an expression of utter distaste. "He's a punter, too."

Cec nodded silently.

"Was there anyone in particular who stood out, Bert?"

"Yeah, I was comin' to that. This one bloke - might a been a mate of 'is 'cause they were friendly enough at first."

"And…" interrupted the Inspector, his voice brimming with impatience.

Bert looked the Inspector up and down then summarily ignored him and continued to spin his yarn to Miss Fisher. "Like I said, seemed like a mate. Patted 'im on the back and they had a drink together. Was laughin' about the girls they had the night before. Sorry, Miss. But then, when we was comin' out, we heard arguin' in the alleyway. The bloke had Payne up against the wall by the throat."

This time, Inspector Robinson wisely waited until Bert was done before asking, "Description?"

It was Cec who replied, "'Bout five an' ten, I'd say. Thick build. Light hair." Turning to his counterpart he asked, "Got that list?"

Bert pulled a folded napkin out if his coat pocket and handed it to the Inspector, "That's all Payne's favorite watering holes. We wrote down the addresses. Some are unmarked on the street. And some aren't fit for… Well…" his eyes cast toward Miss Fisher.

"Albert Johnson! You know perfectly well…" she began to scold but, they had reached their destination. _It would look suspicious if they lingered._ "This is not the end of this conversation," she promised Bert in a whisper.

Robinson looked solemnly at Bert before extending a handshake, "Thank you gentlemen." He paid Cec the fare and then assisted Phryne out of the cab without another word.

Cec happily counted the bills. "Didn't expect him to be so generous."

Bert looked after the two of them. Was it his imagination, or had the Inspector held her hand for longer than was strictly necessary?

"Now what?" Phryne asked as she looked about the stands of produce that made up the South Market.

"I need to call into the Station - see who's on duty. Then, I've got to bring Payne in for questioning. You should go home."

"Where's the fun in that? Come on, let's find you a telephone."

Jack almost felt bad for the market manager. After only two minutes, Phryne had sweet talked him into letting them use his private office and telephone. They thought he had changed his mind but, he only came back into the room to place two large, golden apples on his desk, "With my compliments," he said before leaving them.

"How thoughtful," she bemused. "I am a little peckish," she said as she took a large bite from one of the apples and tossed Jack the other.

"City South Police Station," he told the operator. "Constable, this is Inspector Robinson. I need… Yes, alright. Collins! Collins, slow down. Yes, I'm calling because we need to bring him in for questioning. What? When? Yes. See you there."

"Melvin Payne?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Dead," Jack confirmed grimly.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow, from the sound of it. But, it is a shame seeing as he was our only lead. Come on, we're not far from my place. We can take my car."

 

XXXXXX

 

After another tram ride and a typical drive with Miss Fisher, Jack was very grateful he had not consumed the apple. It was far wiser to ride with her on an empty stomach.

"Twice in one day, Inspector. People will talk," she teased as they entered the morgue's examining room.

Collins and Dr. Johnson were already there. If either was surprised at the reappearance of The Honorable Phryne Fisher at the Detective Inspector's side, neither made reference to it. The Constable handed his Inspector his notes and Dr. Johnson outlined the obvious cause of death.

"Killed almost instantly," the Coroner told them. "Knife to the throat. No signs of a struggle and no signs of strangulation."

"Time of death?" Robinson asked.

"Only a few hours," the Coroner confirmed and grimaced as Miss Fisher picked up the deceased's arm and bent it at the elbow.

"Rigor mortis hasn't even set in," she said, confirming Dr. Johnson's statement.

"Payne didn't turn up for his shift this afternoon, Sir. He was found in the gents at the train station," Collins added.

"It could have happened while we were there." Phryne surmised.

"Let me guess," inquired the Inspector, "No witnesses."

"No, Sir. But we do have the murder weapon." He handed the switchblade to Inspector Robinson who took it with a handkerchief. Engraved on the handle were the initials MGP.

"Bert saw Payne brandishing a knife in a brawl," reminded Phryne.

"He was killed with his own knife?" Robinson asked.

"It appears that way, Inspector," replied the doctor. "There is little tearing which indicates the blade was smooth and sharp. We've already verified that the blood on the knife is the same as the victim's."

The Inspector looked surprised to hear this news and Dr. Johnson added, "Constable Collins asked that we rush the test." Upon learning of his constable's initiative, Jack bestowed Collins with an expression of respect.

"Uh. Sir? There's something else." Hugh ventured, now feeling more confident. "Remember that porter you questioned? Russell Gibbons?"

"Yes?" came two voices.

"He came in, sir. Said he heard what happened to Melvin Payne and was scared for himself."

"Where is he now, Collins?"

"In a safe house, sir. Sergeant Taylor's orders. He didn't have anywhere else to go." Hugh seemed to be holding his breath.

The Inspector's lips were stretched into a thin line as he nodded his concession. "Thank you, Constable," he said as he patted the young man on the arm. "It's been a long day. Go home. Get some rest."  
They took their leave, but not before the Inspector asked that the official report be on his desk by noon the following day.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up right where the last one left off - Phryne & Jack are leaving the morgue for the second time in one very long day. Things heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert!  
> It took me more than a few re-writes to get the feeling I wanted for Jack and Phryne's first time. I waffled between a frenzied-up-against-the-wall-fest and something more romantic without being saccharine. In the end, it's a bit of everything. When my car radio flipped on the other morning, "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews Band was playing. I took it as a sign. The mood of that song seemed just perfect for their consummation.
> 
> Anyway, I gave it my best shot and hope I did them justice. Thanks to everyone to hanging in there! More chapters will hopefully be written over the Labor Day holiday. 
> 
>  
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome.

Phryne noticed that Jack was beginning to look a bit frayed around the edges.

"Perhaps you should take your own advice," she said softly. "I'll drive you home." It took every ounce of willpower she had to heed the speed limit (give or take ten miles per hour) as Jack gave her directions. Expertly parking her Hispano Suiza, Phryne realized that she had never actually seen where the Inspector lived. _How odd._

Though propriety would certainly have kept him from extending the invitation, it was incredibly unlike her to not have barged in at some point. Thinking on it, Phryne supposed that he seemed like such a natural fixture at her home, the idea simply hadn't occurred to her.

"It's not that bad. Is it?" Jack worried, misreading the look on her face.

"What? No. I just thought... I mean. Is this where you and Rosie..."

"Uh, no. No." He looked down at his hands uncomfortably. "I sold the house after the divorce. I couldn't stay there."

Phryne understood. After all, she had fled entire countries outrunning bad memories. When Jack Robinson first told her that he and his wife had been separated for some time, her heart broke. Not just because she was being denied a love affair at the time but, because he was such a decent man. It wasn't right that he should be alone for so long.

She changed her tone, "Come on, then. This will be better than any crime scene."

The ploy worked. Her threat to search his home for evidence vanquished his melancholy and he fixed her with a recriminating look. She followed him up to the front door and watched as he fumbled with his keys as he tried to balance his trunk, which had been retrieved from the Hispano's boot. She briskly took the set from him and tracked his gaze to his own flat's door.

Jack followed her with both trepidation and amusement.

She opened the door anticipating censured, rather austere quarters. But, once again, Jack Robinson proved that he was never what she expected. After setting the trunk down, he flicked on a light that revealed a warm, inviting space.

Gratified to see the surprise flicker in her eyes, he goaded her in a low whisper, "Go on. Do your worst."

Taking a long stride into the parlour, Phryne surveyed her surroundings. A heavy wool rug tatted in deep shades of blue and green anchored the room. It wasn't Persian, of course _\- Jack couldn't afford those kinds of luxuries -_ but it was of good quality. Braced against the far wall was an old, upright piano, with its bench tucked underneath. Two comfortable looking leather armchairs were each appointed with a brass reading lamp. A wooden side table proffered a chess board, pawns lined up at the ready along with a crystal decanter half full of amber liquid and several small glasses.

The room was lined with bookshelves, filled to the brim. This was, maybe, the only thing Phryne could have accurately predicted. She ran her fingers across the spines of the tomes - volumes upon volumes of everything from poetry to chemistry and all things in between. The Masters, the Bard, the Moderns - they were all here, interspersed with items of a more personal nature. A porcelain bowl of seashells, a small photograph in a silver frame of an older woman who had Jack's eyes, a tarnished brass cup awarding a young Jack Robinson senior constable status, a hand-hewn wooden clock.

The blast from the tea kettle startled her. Phryne hadn't even realized Jack had put it on to boil - enraptured as she was, by all the new clues to process. She seemed to come to herself because she straightened up and proceeded to snoop about the small kitchenette where he was pouring tea. It didn't get much use, by the look of it. Judging by the newspaper clippings and files that were stacked on top, the small breakfast table was clearly home to more case work than meals.

She took a tentative step toward the back of the flat and looked back at Jack, catching his eye with her gaze. He nodded his permission. The powder room was above standard with its white honeycomb tiles lining the floor and walls, a white porcelain sink, bathtub and commode. She opened the medicine cabinet only to confirm her suspicions (and convince Jack she was doing a thorough job). Its contents were exactly a straight razor, shaving soap, a toothbrush and powder and a half-empty vial of aspirin. 

Feeling quite excited and more than a little guilty, Phryne stepped over the threshold into Jack's bedroom. She lit a small lamp on the bureau and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the bed (she had dearly hoped it wouldn't be a single). It was dressed in crisp white sheets and a dark green woolen blanket. Over it hung a rendering of the sea, done in oil pastels, that echoed his preferences for blues and greens. Though the sea appeared tranquil at first glance, the longer Phryne looked, the more she saw the rawness of it - the danger. It reflected him so completely, she wondered if Jack had painted it himself.

The wardrobe held his tuxedo and two suits she recognized along with a number of white, collared shirts, a remarkable number of ties, his black leather dress shoes and a shoe polishing kit. The mirrored bureau held a tray of his grooming staples, combs, hair lotion and a small glass bottle of the fougère he occassionally wore.

She was about to pick up the fragrance when she spied something more interesting in the mirror. Reflected in the glass was the corner of a book, just peeking out from under the bed. Unable to resist the impulse, she went over and picked it up. The pages were dogeared in places and it was clearly well loved and well read, judging by its condition. She imagined the book falling from Jack's exhausted hands late one night and ran her fingers over the weathered cover. _Henry Lawson. How very Jack,_ she thought as a smile spread across her face. As she tipped through the marked pages, something dislodged. It was too thick to be a note. _It was a photograph._ She fingered the edge with hesitancy - bracing herself for the anticipated image of Rosie Sanderson. What she found shocked her even more.

Jack waited for her in the parlour. He plucked a book from the shelf and perched on the arm of a chair in an attempt at patience. The sensation of butterflies in his stomach was becoming overwhelming. He was by no means embarrassed by his modest accommodations, but there was no telling what Phryne Fisher would see with that unerring gaze of hers. She wouldn't find anything related to his former wife, though. _There were no pictures, no letters written from the front, no tokens of affection._ When he had left that godforsaken house, all physical ties to his failed marriage went with it. Oddly enough, he took solace in that thought.

When Phryne finally did return to the parlour, he asked nonchalantly, "Find anything incriminating?"

Her silence was deafening.

"Phryne?"

The look on her face was unreadable, his gaze fell to the book in her hand.

"Phryne!" he demanded, now becoming alarmed.

Without a word, she pulled the discovered photograph from the pages and held it out to him.

Comprehension suddenly washed over him. Jack didn't need to look at it to know what it was. He couldn't meet her eyes for the guilt he felt. Keeping that photograph had been wrong, he had known - he had still been married at the time (though in title, only). But, he couldn't help himself. She was just so… alive. And, he hadn't felt that way in so long. He had tried to get rid of it but, every attempt was in vain. The part of him that longed for her had not allowed it.

His throat tightened and mortification burned in his eyes. The muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to find the words to explain, "Phryne, I..." But, whatever confession he was about to make was obliterated by the mouth that suddenly covered his. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not. _It wouldn't be the first time._ The undignified images would sometimes seize him late at night, when he had been alone in his "marital" bed. The shameful memory was pushed away by the very real pressure of Phryne pushing him into the leather chair.

Jack's suffering at the sight of that photograph had fueled a fire so deep within her, it threatened to consume her. _His moral compass be damned,_ she thought as she maneuvered him into the armchair, with every intention of taking him right then and there. Her meaning was clear as she towered over him.

It was then he realized, rather savagely, that he wanted _\- No. Needed. -_ her to feel just a trace of the desire and longing that he had experienced for so long. Snaking his left arm around her waist, Jack pulled her down on top of him. He gently brushed the hair back from her face with his free hand before capturing her mouth in a torrent of kisses - each longer and deeper than the last. He was relentless in his pursuit and did not yield until she was gasping for breath.

Tracing the trail of her perfume down her throat with his lips he caressed her in languorous movements, from her hip to the curve of her breast - almost but never quite lighting his fingers on the places she most wanted them. She wriggled and tugged at his shoulders, trying to press closer, but he would not oblige - his arm held fast around her waist and prevented her from meeting his hips.

He sucked and nipped down her neck to her collarbone and worked his way back up the other side - listening with rapt pleasure to Phryne's shuddering breaths. His lips found her hers once more and teased her gently with his tongue, desperately trying to ignore the pangs of his own need as she wound her arms around him and bit his bottom lip. When he dared look her in the eye, her gaze was dark and wild. At long last, Jack loosened his grasp enough for her to settle squarely on top of him. But before she could, he raised his own hips sharply up to meet hers and caused the ache she felt to harden into a relentless pulse.

The anguish made her shudder and he quickly embraced her again and held her tight above him. Jack heard her breath catch in her throat. Following the curve of her bottom, he reached his hand between her thighs and began to stroke, torturously slowly through the fabric of her trousers. She wanted him so desperately, every inch of her trembled but he showed no mercy - tugging at her cloaked nipple with his teeth while his fingers continued to tease.

He fell apart when she began whimpering his name.

Jack gazed up at the woman in his arms - this brilliant, ebullient, gorgeous woman - and suddenly wanted nothing more than to see her utterly satisfied. He gently picked Phryne up and carried her to his bed. The moment in sight, she kicked off her shoes enthusiastically and entwined him with her legs. As he leaned over her, she nuzzled his ear and whispered insistently that she needed her handbag.

When he returned with the velvet pouch, she was sprawled across the bed, wearing only her stockings. Not for the first time he thought, _That painting doesn't do her justice._

He gazed at her through heavy-lidded eyes as she beckoned for him to come closer, taking the bag from him. Jack wrenched his own shirts and tie over his head and discarded them, wanting nothing in the way of feeling her warm skin against his. She halted him with a foot on his shoulder and a very pointed gaze at her garter. A devilish smile crept across his face and he obligingly unclipped the stocking and rolled the gossamer fabric down her leg, taking care to caress the creamy flesh and brush her knee with his lips. She sighed happily and nimbly slid the pessary in place as he lavished his attention on her other leg.

"You're a bit overdressed for the occasion," she teased him.

He looked down in chagrin and made to turn off the light.

"Don't!"

"I'm old-fashioned," he argued lamely - clearly uncomfortable with the idea of disrobing in full view of her. _A shirt was one thing but..._

Certain that he had never once stood in front of Rosie like this, Phryne understood his reserve - but did not accept it. She spoke in a quiet but determined voice, "I want to see you, Jack. All of you." As if to demonstrate her resolve, she sat upright on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed.

Jack was rather reminded of her perching on his office desk, demanding that he requisition some damn thing or another, and the corner of his mouth couldn't help but twitch upward. Resigned to her will, he removed his shoes and socks and placed the former tidily in the wardrobe. With self-conscious hands, he unbuttoned his trousers - stepping out of them instead of letting them fall around his feet. Then, he turned away from her and removed the final layer.

He chanced a glance back at her, over his shoulder and the glow from the lamp threw him into sharp relief. His beauty in that moment took her breath away. She drank in every inch of him. His hair was tousled from their foreplay and his chisled features could have been hewn from marble - excepting the softness of his mouth. His body was long and lean and rippled with elegant muscles that contracted inadvertently in his tension. Broad shoulders gave way to a smooth, supple back that tapered to a narrow waist and the most magnificent ass she had ever seen on a man. _Yes, including Sasha DeLisse._ There was nothing wasted - every inch of him honed artlessly to suit a purpose and nothing more. The distance between them was suddenly much too great. She was on her feet in an instant, pressing her body to his and whispering into his mouth how beautiful he was.

Jack cupped her face in his hands and knew that he would never love another as much as he loved her, though he didn't dare say it. Instead, he kissed her. His lips were tender and his tongue brushed gently against hers as he tried to wordlessly convey everything he felt for her in the luxurious kiss. Tasting the saltiness on her lips, he brushed her tear tracks away with the pad of his thumb and kissed the corners of her eyes.

In a voice that was barely a whisper, Phryne told him all he needed to know, "There's only you."

With a hand at her hip, Jack guided Phryne backwards toward the bed. They laid facing each other for an aeon - mouths refused to be separated as hands fluttered to caress a cheek, a breast, a hip. Their bodies began to move in rhythm and - when she curled her leg over his - he entered her at last. He caught her gasp with his mouth and pulled her closer. For a moment, he held still inside her, overwhelmed by the sensation of not knowing where he ended and she began. They began to rock slowly and punctuated the space between kisses with moans of pleasure. Rolling to her back, Phryne lifted her hips to take him fully and her name fell from his lips like a prayer.

He supported himself over her with those long-muscled arms, dipping down to nip at her throat and meet her in a desperate kiss. Hungry eyes watched her body grow taut - her back arching, lifting - and he felt the bite of nails on his shoulders. His self control was crumbling as her tiny sobs filled his ears and her legs shook with tension around him. Trembling hands pulled him down for a deep kiss. He guided her arms into a pose of surrender and laced his fingers through hers, pushing off her hands and changing his rhythm to abate the ache that was spreading through him. She wrapped her legs around him and bound him tightly to her. Crisis swept over Phryne first and her muscles clenched with ferocity. Her lips parted in a silent scream as she arched back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her body pulsated all around him and, _ohgodphryne,_ he drove deeply into her until he, too, seized with release. When she felt him throb inside her, she pushed hard - lifting herself to him - and held fast as her body shuddered under the waves of a second orgasm.

Both were spent and gasping for breath, their skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat - but neither wanted to withdraw. Phryne cradled Jack's head onto her shoulder and savored the feeling of his weight against her. A piteous moan escaped her lips when he finally contracted from her and Jack tried to make up for the loss with a languorous kiss. They laid there, limbs entwined, until exhaustion finally overtook them.

Phryne woke, disoriented, in the middle of the night. Finally realizing where she was, she rearranged herself, using Jack's chest as a pillow. Warm arms wound around her and a hot chill ran through her.

"Alright?" came his voice, low and thick with sleep.

She nodded. But she was not alright. For the first time in an age, she felt herself deeply in love.

He covered her cheek with his hand and absentmindedly stroked her hair.

"Jack," she began. Her voice was small and breathless - she was on the verge of telling him.

"Yes?" Even in his state of drowsiness, he sensed this was important.

But, panic flickered in her chest and she faltered, "I was just... going to say… that... I steal the covers."

She brought her face up to his and willed him to see through the charade.

Lips, warm and soft, brushed against hers as he said, "I know. Me too," before sealing the confession with a kiss.

Forgotten on the floor in Jack's parlour, lay the photograph of a vibrant woman - her raven hair cut in a cap - clowning behind peekaboo glasses fashioned from her delicate fingers.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne wake in Jack's flat - in Jack's bed after consumating their relationship the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert! This time, with flashbacks.
> 
> This chapter can be skipped if that's not your cup of tea. There's only two things you'll need to know: 1) Jack and Phryne got very close emotionally in this chapter. 2) The Inspector and his trusty Constable are on their way to check out Melvin Payne's residence for clues/evidence.

 

 

"Sir, are you alright?"

The slackjawed expression on his DI's face worried Constable Collins enough to risk a reprimand. He had been concerned when the Inspector turned up nearly a half an hour late for his shift without so much as a telephone call. But, yesterday had been a terrible day. The latest twists in the murder on the Bairnsdale train had thrown them all headlong into a flurry of paperwork, interrogations, trips to the morgue and dead ends.

And, he reminded himself, Inspector Robinson bore the additional burden of having to deal with Miss Fisher on this case - due to an unfortunate stroke of luck that placed them on the same train. 

Hugh did not envy his mentor's position of having to maintain a professional rapport with someone from whom he had been estranged. He had felt the tension between the two of them as they struggled to be civil, saw his boss's jaw clench when she had addressed him. Collins chalked the Inspector's unusual tardiness up to needing some rest.

But when his boss had finally arrived at the Station, he didn't look well rested at all. In fact, his face seemed oddly swollen and there was visible stubble along the jaw and chin. Hugh wondered if there wasn't something really wrong.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Between lack of sleep and several hours catching up on paperwork, Jack's eyes blurred and stung. He palmed his face, considering what he wouldn't give to be back in bed. Though, if he were, he consented, the last thing on his mind would be sleeping. Jack had awoken that morning with a woman in his bed for the first time in what felt like forever. And it hadn't been just any woman - it was Phryne Fisher. The thought alone was enough to arouse him and he allowed himself a rare moment to savor the recollection.

 

 _Hours earlier at his flat..._

 

 _Eyes still closed, he was immediately aware of her pressure and warmth. When his heavy lids consented to lift, the room was still dark. The experience of watching the sun come up after countless sleepless nights informed him that it was probably close to six in the morning. His arm draped over her as she slept, curled, with her back pressed to him._

 _He gazed down the graceful curves of her pale neck and shoulders, finding them completely irresistible. Lowering his face to nuzzle the crook of her neck, he inhaled her scent, a combination of perspiration and sex and the lingering notes of her perfume. His pulse quickened. He pressed his lips to the soft skin there and gently kissed up her neck to just under her ear, causing her to stir and murmur soft sounds of pleasure. His fingers trailed casually across her abdomen. Continuing very gently and slowly, he feathered kisses behind her ear and along the length of her shoulder to the round, back again and into the base of her hairline, where the short hairs tickled his lips._

 _Her feet were wiggling and drew sensuously against the tops of his feet and shins - she was awake enough. Pulling slightly away, he breathed over her shoulders and back and she tensed in anticipation. Bracing her shoulders from the front, he pulled her closer to him as his tongue slid down the nape of her neck to her spine causing her to shiver and cry out._

 _He continued to worship her with warm, wet kisses and her flesh rippled under his mouth as she gripped the sheets in front of her and began to make small circles with her hips. A soft, mewling sound now escaped her with every breath. It was this sound more than anything that drove him over the edge - it was a desperate sound of wanting._

 _Throwing his leg over hers and wrapping his arms all the way around her, he enveloped her - drawing her in tightly to him - caressing every inch he could reach as his teeth grazed her shoulder. She squirmed and turned her head in an attempt to kiss him but, he was in control. Slowly, he brought his mouth to the helix of her ear and sucked just so he could hear her gasp._

 _Bringing his lips down right into her ear, he spoke as deeply and quietly as he could manage, caressing her with his voice, "I believe you are well and truly surrounded, Miss Fisher." Her entire body convulsed under him and his lips curled into a satisfied smile. Noting that she was pulling deep breaths now, he stroked the hollow of her pelvic bone while his other hand cupped her breast, fingers lighting over a hard nipple. He continued, "There's no other way. You'll have to give yourself up."_

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

"Sir?"

"What's that?" Inspector Robinson inquired rather sheepishly of his junior officer as he was snapped out of his reverie.

"Are you alright, Sir? You look, ah,...strange."

"Perfectly fine, Collins. Did you manage to get an address for Melvin Payne?" The Inspector quickly regained his composure and became all business and the young constable seemed to take some relief at this.

"Yes, Sir. It just came through a few minutes ago." Collins went to his desk and retrieved a slip of paper. "He rented a room at a boarding house in Carlton."

"Good. Bring around the car. I'll meet you in front."

The Constable nodded and smiled. He felt much more at ease when his Detective Inspector was in full charge of his faculties.

Jack reached for the telephone and suppressed a grin when Mr. Butler informed him that the lady of the house had not yet arisen. He left a message for her with Payne's address and added, entirely for Mr. Butler's benefit, that the police were more than up to the job of searching the premises and his call was merely one of professional courtesy.

XXXXXX

Toes covered in a mound of froth broke the water's surface as Phryne Fisher stretched out languidly in her bathtub. She recalled with pride that the Hispano Suiza had proved its worth once again as it had sailed, silently in neutral, into her private drive less than an hour ago. Scaling the back stairs, she had managed to break into her room, strip and sneak under the covers before Dot came in to draw the curtains. It was a good thing she had a track record as a late riser.

 

 _Not long ago..._

 _"Morning, Miss!"_

 _"Good morning, Dot," Phryne had said through a yawn._

 _"Did your trip to the morgue turn up anything useful?"_

 _"Just more dead ends, I'm afraid," she replied, noting that Hugh must have told Dot of her whereabouts._

 _"I'll draw you a bath. A long, hot soak will do you good," the young woman intuited._

 _"Thank you, Dot. You really are a treasure. And, would you ask Mr. Butler to prepare a heartier breakfast than usual?"_

 _Dot had looked up in surprise. She had never seen her mistress take more than coffee and toast this early._

 _"Only, I missed dinner and the Inspector does take it out of me," Miss Fisher had covered, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling._

 " _Oh!" Miss Williams' face relaxed immediately. "Of course, Miss."_

She closed her eyes at the sensation of the wash cloth pulling against her skin. _I believe you are well and truly surrounded, Miss Fisher._ She remembered the low timbre of his voice, throttled with passion, and the memory caused a chill to descend her spine. She had always taken a great deal of pleasure at the Detective Inspector's control and confidence at a crime scene - especially one he was taking over from a less-abled officer (so, pretty much everyone) - and she had found herself spellbound and intensely aroused by the similarity. In the privacy of her bath, Phryne relaxed and recalled the delicious morning.

 

 

 _Hours earlier at Jack's flat..._

 

 _Jack's hands and mouth were on her - his deep voice vibrating in her ear - and she felt the wetness surge between her legs. She was trembling under his touch, heaving for breath when he continued, "There's no other way. You'll have to give yourself up." She tensed as pure delight ran through her, considering this new game. She had heard his entreaty for her submission. Or...Was it a dare?_

 _Slowly - very slowly - taking care not to give herself away - she relaxed her body and guided his hand from her breast up to her mouth. She kissed his fingers and began in a soft, pleading voice that she knew he would find completely intoxicating, "Oh! Inspector." Taking his index finger into her mouth, she ran her tongue down its length and sucked. Jack expelled his breath in a curse and a wicked grin that he could not see spread across her face._

 _Continuing in mock innocence she asked, "Did it not occur to you that a girl from Collingwood would have a fallback plan?" And with that, she pulled his fingers back and dragged her teeth across the palm before biting down firmly on the heel of his hand, running her tongue across the plump surface. She knew she had him when he involuntarily issued a rasping moan and shuddered violently._

 _Thinking judo should be made mandatory schooling, she changed her grip and pivoted to pin Jack to the bed. Her knees were astride his chest, her hands holding his forearms over his head. "Remind me what were you saying? Something about giving yourself up?" she purred as she nuzzled the underside of his exposed arm._

 _His breathing turned sharp and she reveled in his gasps as her hair fell forward and tickled his skin while she nipped at his clavicle. She felt his erection at her back, hard and urgent. Holding herself over him, she took him in. My God, he really was beautiful. His sinewy arms stretched above him, pulling his pectoral muscles up and out. Golden brown hair smattered his freckled chest and tufts the texture of candy floss grew in thatches under his arms trapping the rich, musky smell of him. His nipples were rosy brown and taut with excitement. Beneath his ribcage, his stomach curved and formed the concave crater where she sat._

 _She longed to touch him but, wasn't ready to let go, either. Being nothing if not resourceful, Phryne dipped her body low and caressed him with her breasts, causing him to groan with the exquisite torture. Watching him watch her, she took her time straightening out her spine before lowering herself again, soft pale orbs of tender flesh dangling just out of reach of his mouth. She traced parallel lines down his shoulders and chest, her hardened nipples like the feathered touch of fingertips on his skin. She could hear him trying to control his breathing but, it was a losing battle as she twisted and her right breast trailed along the flank of his sensitive ribs._

 _"Mmm. Now that I have you, Detective Inspector, what am I going to do with you?" She hoped he understood the invitation - she was really asking what he wanted her to do._

 _He had, but his was not the response she expected. She watched as he swallowed hard - adam's apple bobbing lusciously along his throat -and said in a deep rumble, "Kiss me."_

 _Slightly discomfited, she looked down into Jack's face and her expression softened when she saw the longing and awe - and, yes, love - there. Still keeping a firm grip on his arms, she lowered her face to his. She felt uncharacteristically nervous as he met her gaze and silently waited. Her trembling lips brushed his and she felt his mouth gently part - but, he did not pursue her. His eyes fluttered open, lashes glinting in the first hints of morning sun and she understood that his wish, at her invitation, was for her to kiss him and not the other way around._

 _She brought her mouth down over his and licked his lips, eliciting a shiver from him. When she pulled away again, a tiny moan of frustration escaped him but he remained still, looking up at her with those warm, wide eyes. Her lips curved in a devilish smile before she finally pressed them to his in the sensual kiss he longed for. He opened his mouth to her and she explored it with abandon, and though he did not engage, the vibration of his muffled moans propelled her._

 _Feeling a surge of freedom borne of his passivity - the way he laid there patient and vulnerable, waiting and wanting - she poured herself into him, filling him with everything she had - everything she felt for him. And Jack received her openly, willingly. Phryne felt something inside her give way. Suddenly, she released her grip on his arms and was pleading for him to return the kiss._

 _Warm hands shot up to cradle her face as he met her mouth and she felt the heavenly sensation of melting into him as heat spread throughout her. His lips were strong and soft and he knew just when to pull back, to go deeper, to make her want more. She would have let Jack kiss her all day were it not for the terrible ache that had sharpened inside her. Taking his hands into hers, she edged back carefully and marveled at the slick of slippery fluid she had left across his stomach._

 _She positioned herself over him, watching him as he gazed down the lean line of his body to where they were about to join. She took him slowly to increase his pleasure at the sight, and when she finally sank onto him, she heard him choke out her name. His hands gripped hers tightly in midair as she used them for leverage to ride him but, she was unprepared for just how overwrought her body was. After only a few moments, she seized in orgasm and cried out for him. His strong arms were around her in an instant as Jack sat up and gently kissed her through her tremors._

  _Gradually, she began to move again, raising and lowering herself on him and he propped himself up with one arm, the other around her waist as he moved his hips in rhythm with her. She began to sob with the unbearable tension that was building inside her and she saw concern flash across his face. It was all she could do to beg him, "Don't stop." He seemed to understand because he increased the tempo and she could feel his arm tightening around her, helping to buoy her up, until they both began to shake. Phryne was astounded that he did not break the rhythm, even though she felt him pulsing, spending inside her. Yet, he did not stop._

 _Jack cursed and groaned through the sensitive aftershocks but continued to lift his hips, thrusting into her from below. When he twisted his hips and pushed deeply inside her, she felt her knees buckle. Her core contracted and she cried out under the growing tightness that gripped her. Just when she thought they would never release, her muscles convulsed in a vicious throbbing that wracked her body, as she came harder than she ever had done in her life. Tiny lights burst in her vision and her flesh turned to jelly as she collapsed into him. She didn't know how long she had laid there in his protective embrace but, her breath had finally quieted - though, it still caught with the odd tremor that ripped through her. She wondered if Jack had felt the same sense of belonging in her home as she felt, here, with him. As if divining her thoughts, a kiss was pressed to her temple and she felt the lip curve against her skin in that half-smile she had fallen for._

 

 

Each of them was so guarded with the world. Wearing armor made from suits and silence, fripperies and charm. But something had changed this morning, she felt it. They had exposed themselves to one another in a way that they had never done before, nor with anyone else. It was an intimacy that left an indelible mark on their souls. And, for the first time, she was not afraid.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently read DH Lawrence's "Women In Love," and while it's not a favorite, the theme of dominance and submissiveness is a major one in the work. In it, Lawrence shows that the submissive partner exudes a great deal of control over the partner who assumes the dominant role - simply through their passivity. I wanted to play with that idea a little, hence Phryne's overwhelming emotions when she realizes just how much Jack is willing to open himself up to her.
> 
> Major thanks to PhryneandJack on Tumblr for posting that most excellent gif of a certain someone strutting along in a speedo (you know the one - and if you don't you should go check that out right now). It provided some delightful inspiration.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for leaving kudos and just the most amazing feedback I could have hoped for!  
> Constructive criticism is more than welcome!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspector Robinson and Constable Collins head to Carlton to search the residence of their latest victim related to the Bairnsdale train murder. A certain lady detective was tipped off (by a certain detective inspector) as to their whereabouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much appreciation for those wonderful writers both here and on fanfic who weave such amazing mysteries into their stories. Thank you all for the inspiration to keep going when it was becoming a bit of a struggle, whether through kudos and comments or by posting your own lovely stories to read.
> 
> "Ranga" is Australian slang for a redhead - short for "orangutan" and often used offensively. Originally, I was inclined to use the British term, "ginger" but changed my mind. While the term may be anachronistic, I've decided to keep it - as it suits the degradation it's meant to convey by the characters speaking it in a way no other word does. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome.

 

If the outside of the dilapidated boarding house was anything to go by, Jack was not at all looking forward to seeing the inside.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson," He said, pulling his credentials out of his coat. "You have a tenant by the name of Melvin Payne?"

"Yar," the greasy landlord replied, taking a long pull on his cigar and returning his attention to his racing papers.

"What did you know about him?"

"Didn't ask questions. 'E paid 'is rent. That's it."

"Did he ever have any visitors?"

The man didn't answer.

"I could ask you these questions down at the Station, if you prefer."

He leered at the policemen, revealing broken, yellow teeth. "Brought 'round a whore once or twice."

Collins grimaced at the man but the Inspector's face remained impassive.

"This girl have a name? What did she look like?"

"Dunno. I only seen her from behind." The man leered again and sucked his teeth before adding, "She wuz a ranga."

"We need to see his quarters," the constable suddenly demanded.

The man blew putrid smoke in the young copper's face, causing him to sputter. Amused, the man asked, "Wut's 'e done?"

"He died," the Inspector informed him succinctly.

"That so?" Patchy eyebrows raised halfway before his eyes resettled on his paper. "Last room on the left."

"He certainly didn't seem very sorry, sir."

"I'm sure he's not, Collins. Today's the fifth," the Inspector offered as an explanation. At Hugh's look of confusion he added, "He would have already collected this month's rent."

Melvin Payne's place of residence - if you could call it that - was an eight by eight square room with peeling wallpaper and a smell like soured milk. Half of the floor was covered with a filthy tatted cushion that was obviously used as a mattress. A suitcase, likely pilfered from the train station, was propped open and held a few items of rough looking clothing and a small, battered table stood barren in the corner. A cursory search turned up nothing of interest.

The Inspector had just given Collins the task of packing up the contents of the case for further examination down at the Station when the scent of French perfume wafted in the air. Without raising his eyes, Inspector Robinson said, "Miss Fisher. I wondered if we would be honored with your presence."

Hugh looked up in surprise to see... no one. Only to catch his foot and trip over the leg of the table when Miss Fisher did, in fact, appear at the threshold. She wore a swinging, blue velvet coat over a black blouse and skirt. Her pillbox hat was the same deep blue as her coat and had a silk tassel that danced as she moved.

"Morning, gentlemen!"

"It's nearly afternoon," a smug voice informed her. The corners of Jack's mouth drew down in amusement.

"Time flies when... Well, you know the expression," she shot back.

"Hello, Miss." Collins finally replied, straightening up and dusting himself off. "We were just finishing up."

"You dropped something, Hugh," Miss Fisher was looking at a piece of paper that had appeared at the constable's feet.

"Sorry, Miss?"

The Inspector bent down to pick up the scrap of wallpaper. It was the same sad, faded floral pattern as the rest of the room.

"It must have dislodged when I fell."

"There's something written here." The Inspector squinted at the paper trying to make out the hiccuped scrawl. "One ten and a half. Can."

"Can what, Sir?"

"That's all it says, Collins."

Miss Fisher peered at the paper.  110-1/2 Can.  Her eyes suddenly lit up with inspiration. "Jack!"

He gaped at her. It was the first time she had slipped and used his familiar name during the course of this investigation. Hugh looked between them and grimaced at the tension, not entirely sure of the source. He backed away in discomfort and resumed gathering Payne's things.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Inspector, do you still have that list of addresses?"

Pulling the napkin from his overcoat pocket, Jack handed it to her. No one but Phryne would have noticed the slight tic of his head as he did so.

"Here it is. Canning Street. It could be one of the more unsavory clubs Bert mentioned."

The Inspector was not overjoyed at the prospect of Phryne visiting a place even Albert Johnson thought inhospitable.

The afternoon sun assaulted their eyes as the left the dingy boarding house. Hugh loaded the evidence into the boot of the police vehicle while Jack looked around for the familiar red car.

"In this neighborhood, Inspector? I had Bert and Cec to drop me off."

"I guess I'm stuck with you, then," Jack teased as he opened the rear door for her.

"Seems that way."

Hugh buckled down for another day of barbs and griping between his two mentors. He had been party to plenty of awkward exchanges over the years but never had he felt as uncomfortable as this. Dottie had told him that she was hopeful that the two detectives would reconnect but to his eyes, it didn't seem likely.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Jack pulled the police motor car around on Canning Street and the already rough neighborhood went from bad to worse. The buildings seem to be crumbling right before their eyes. Instead of bringing light and warmth into the street, the sunlight seemed to exaggerate and mock the squalor that surrounded them. Refuse piled up on the walks and overflowed into the street in places, permeating the air with a rancid smell.

There weren't many people out but, the few that were carried themselves with the same dead-eyed expression Jack recognized from his time served in the war. Upon arrival of the constabulary however, they scattered - it wasn't wise to be seen in the presence of a copper around these parts.

110 Canning was an abandoned storefront. Jagged glass winked at them from broken windows. Heavy wooden boards had been nailed over the frames to prevent entry - or perhaps to deny curious eyes. The main entry had been boarded over in its entirety - there was no access from the front of the structure.

"On your guard, Collins," Inspector Robinson instructed in a quiet voice and the constable looked disconcerted before freeing the baton from his belt. 

They circled around the back, with Miss Fisher in the lead, and found themselves in a small alley that was shaded from street view by a combination of rubbish, overgrowth, and crude fencing. At some point, the passageway must have been used for loading and unloading goods but, it was evident to the two detectives that the alley was now used for a different kind of trade altogether.

The proliferation of cigarette butts was greater here than on the street and Miss Fisher artfully dodged the spent rubbers and broken bits of brown glass that littered the ground. White paint was splashed here and there along the length of the alley.

"One, ten  and a half  Canning, I presume. Look at the markings, Jack," Miss Fisher said, dropping her formal pretense in the face of this last discovery.

"The graffiti, Miss?" Collins asked.

"Not graffiti, Collins. The paint marks territory. Each prostitute works a designated area."

"Melvin Payne's death is linked to a prostitution racket, Sir?"

"I'm not sure," the Inspector admitted.

"Well, we know Payne was a regular customer - according to Bert and Cec's information," Miss Fisher reminded him.

"And, the landlord said he saw him with a particular girl on more than one occasion. A girl with red hair," Jack told her.

The Inspector surveyed the back of the structure and walked over to a cargo door that had been chained and padlocked shut. "I hate to ask..."

But, before he could even finish, a set of lock picks was being proffered to him by a delicately gloved hand. Jack did not need to look up to know there was a twinkle in Miss Fisher's eye.

"Collins, I need you to return to the motor car. If anyone approaches the building, you are to sound the horn. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Sir." Hugh was fairly certain that he did not want to know what his DI was up to and was quite relieved to be excused.

Jack maneuvered the picks expertly and they gained access to the building. As soon as the door opened, his senses were assaulted with an acrid odor. Eyes watering, he pulled a torch from his coat pocket and scanned the pitch dark interior.

"You really do take me to the nicest places, Jack," Phryne muttered under her breath as she pulled out a handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth. "This place makes the Morgue look like Luna Park."

He raised an eyebrow and quirked his head at her, "Mrs. Moller's Holiday Cottages don't sound so bad, now, do they?"

It wasn't so much a brothel, as a place for the punters and their "dates" to take care of business somewhere besides the open street. Old shelving and fixtures were scattered across the space and formed a kind of maze that offered meager privacy. It reeked of piss, stale sweat and sex and made their guts wrench.

"I've seen enough," Jack conceded and took care to look the door the way he had found it.

"I expect we'll see much more than we care to, after nightfall," Phryne said knowingly. They would have to return during the darker business hours to pursue their quarry.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

"Please come in, Inspector," Mr. Butler said warmly as he took the man's coat and hat and showed him through to the dining room. "Miss Fisher is expecting you."

"Thank you, Mr. Butler. It's good to see you," Jack said sincerely as he offered his hand.

Mr. Butler shook it and noticed (or maybe hoped) that the desolation he had last seen in the man's eyes was gone. "It's good to see you, too, Sir."

The table was set for two, though there was no candlelight. A simple supper of roast chicken, potatoes and haricot vert had been laid out for them.

"You're late," the familiar voice admonished.

"My apologies, Miss Fisher," Jack began as he took his seat. "It seems that Russell Gibbons has lost faith in the constabulary."

"Isn't that our porter from the train station?"

"The same. He decided to leave the safe house this afternoon. I had to take statements from the attending officers."

"Can he do that? Just... leave?"

"He's not the wanted party. But, it is strange given how afraid he was."

They ate their meal and discussed the case, well aware that they had to keep up formal appearances for the sake of the household. But, it was getting harder and harder to do so. Phryne had already been forced to kick Jack twice under the table after his eyes had taken on a misty quality. She, for herself, had resisted the urge to reach out and feel the whiskers on his face (such a rare treat and one that dovetailed nicely with the evening's plans), settling for the salt cellar instead.

Taking their coffee in the parlour, the detectives discussed (argued) strategies for the evening's mission. While Jack had been dealing with the missing porter, Phryne had been making preparations. Naturally, her approach was about 180 degrees off of the Inspector's - to no one's surprise.

"It's not an undercover operation, Miss Fisher. I'm going in to look for this girl and that's it."

"You won't get far, waltzing in there in your suit and tie!"

"Waltzing isn't what I had in mind."

"What if you tip someone off? Then we may never find her. Or worse, put her in danger."

Jack looked down at his clothing and had to admit she was right. "Alright. I'll go home and change. Pick you up in an hour," he said looking at his watch.

"Nonsense. I have it taken care of," Phryne said smoothly and stood to pull a hanging bag from the closet in the hall. She handed it to him.

"How could you, possibly?"

"I have a keen eye for these things, Inspector," she drawled, closing the gap between them. Looking him up and down rather salaciously, she added in a whisper, "Besides, I know _just_ how you measure up."

She watched eagerly as his mouth twisted and light pink patches bloomed on his cheeks as he took the bag from her. God, she loved to tease him.

_He caught her around the arm and pulled her to him, bringing his mouth down hard over hers. Backing her onto the chaise, he lifted her skirt to take her right then and there. And gave not one damn who knew about it._  

Well, no. That's what he wanted to do. Instead Jack stood there, dumb, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. Duty before desire.

After a few delightful moments watching him struggle, Phryne said in a ringing voice, "Mister Butler will show you to a guest room to change, Inspector." Like magic, Tobias Butler appeared out of thin air and gestured for Inspector Robinson to follow him upstairs to a spare room. Phryne went up to her own boudoir a few minutes later.

For him, Phryne had procured a pair of baggy woolen brown trousers, made in the older fashion with braces, a thin, dingy, collarless shirt and a battered wool coat the color of putty that reached down to mid-thigh. In the bottom of the bag were a pair of half-fingered green wool gloves and a brown newsboy cap. The effect was remarkable, Jack thought as he looked in the full length mirror. He was at once himself and no one at all. 

He waited for her in the parlour. Looking down at his feet, he thought it was a good thing he hadn't had time to polish his shoes this morning. They might have been a dead giveaway. Considering this, he didn't hear Phryne descending the stairs and so she spotted him first. 

The clothing she selected certainly helped him to blend in to the scenery. But within moments, she noticed his broad shoulders, strong, sensitive fingertips and sharp jaw - offset by nearly two days worth of shadow. Of course, to someone who didn't spend as much time thinking about Jack Robinson's shoulders, fingers and jaw as Phryne Fisher, these details would have been completely negligible. He looked every bit the dock-shackled wharfie and she felt something hot tug at the base of her belly.

Phryne entered the room and softly cleared her throat. Jack gawped at the sight of her. He was arrested by the chameleon-like qualities of her features. Eyes, kholed into sharp slivers, flashed under lashes knotted thick with paint. She had accentuated the bow of her mouth so her lips looked like an O. They were lacquered in a dark reddish plum that reminded him of the color of dried blood. Her skin was powdered darker than usual, giving it an almost sickly pallor that was exaggerated by her choice of hairpiece. More strawberry than blonde, the reddish strands had been fingerwaved and most resembled the hairstyle favored by Miss William's sister, Lola.

She wore a tattered grey slip dress that was more than a few years out of style and a moth-eaten black wool shawl. A brooch sparkled over her left ear and seemed out of place until he noticed the great number of paste rhinestones that were missing from the settings. Jack couldn't resist a smile, thinking of her exceptional attention to detail. Her shoes were black leather and unremarkable but, there was something else. He couldn't put his finger on it. As if reading his mind, she twisted a foot and his eye flew to her bare ankle. No stockings.

Standing up and taking her hand, he said, "You really are extraordinary," in an appreciative tone that was neither flirtatious nor sexual.

"Thank you," she said, an equally wide smile spreading across her face. The tug in her belly was becoming more of a relentless pull as his eyes washed over her with admiration and his fingers held hers.

The reinforcements stumped in just as Phryne's hand was falling to her side.

"Well, I'll be!" Bert guffawed at the sight of them.

"Looks just like the real thing," Cec murmured in his soft voice and nodded.

"I'm glad you approve, gentlemen," Phryne crooned.

"Approve? He could be my bloody brother!" the shorter of the pair told her.

"I'll take that as the compliment I'm sure it was intended to be," Jack said and stuck out his hand.

Bert shook it roughly and smirked at him. 

Miss Fisher gestured for all of them to take a seat and explained the plan. Bert and Cec would arrive first and position themselves as look outs. Then, she and Jack would infiltrate the alley - also known as 110-1/2 Canning Street - in search of the red haired prostitute who had been seen with Melvin Payne. Collins would meet them all several blocks away in the police motorcar.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspector Robinson, Miss Fisher & Co. infiltrate the unseemly nocturnal activities taking place at 110 1/2 Canning Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the term "ranga" is slang for redhead.
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome.

 

Cutting the cab's engine, Bert stuck a cigarette in his mouth and said, "See you on the other side. We'll find you if there's any trouble." He and Cec started up the dark street, each clutching a bottle of grog wrapped in brown paper.

Shadows moved up and down the blocks, weaving behind rubbish bins and darting out from alleyways. Jack's stomach tightened. He had tried to suggest to Phryne that her presence tonight was not necessary. It was a simple pick up, nothing more. He had stopped far short of expressing his trepidation, of course, which would surely have set her off. In typical fashion, she had easily shot down his arguments and insisted on accompanying him. Deep down, he knew she could handle herself - she had had proven it time and time again. But still, he worried. Jack was suddenly very grateful for the presence of the two diggers. They could be a royal pain in the backside but, he knew they would do anything to help keep Miss Fisher safe.

"Ready?" Phryne asked after the two men had been gone for several minutes.

"As I'll ever be," Jack sighed.

She squeezed his knee to lighten the mood and he playfully smacked her hand away, "None of that, now."

"Fine. But, don't be offended when I ask you to wear this costume again."

Phryne received a glorious smirk in return.

They cautiously made their way up the street. Jack noticed that Phryne was even carrying herself differently to adapt to her latest role of lady of the night. Instead of walking confidently in front of him, she stayed close - almost cowering - beside him. 

As they got closer to their destination, she hissed, "Put your arm around me. It has to look _convincing,_ Jack." He threw his left arm possessively over her, his hand splaying wide across her base of her throat. Marking her. Controlling her. So no one else would try.

"You're alright?" he whispered in her ear and felt her nod in return.

At the mouth of the alley, a gatekeeper stopped them. "She ain't one o' ours." The man stared at Phryne. It was cold, hard stare that told her very clearly outsiders were not welcome.

"I go where I'm paid to go," she said in an accent much rougher than her usual proper English.

She addressed the man without looking at him. It was the perfect balance of fear and self-righteousness, Jack thought. A woman in her position would have been cowed into submission but, still needed to protect herself.

"I'm lookin' for anotha," Jack told him. "Heard you got anotha ranga down 'ere." He pulled Phryne closer to him, his fingertips digging in to the delicate skin of her neck.

The man's face broke into a grotesque grin. "Yeah. We got one. Fresher 'en that slag, too. Might be occupied at the mo'."

Phryne, playing her part, looked down at her shoes at the insult while Jack bit back the urge to knock the man's teeth down his throat and slipped him a bill instead.

Whistling loudly, the gatekeeper scrawled a note on a slip of paper and gave it to the young boy who came running. With a flick of the head, Jack and Phryne were finally allowed to pass and told, "Daisy will find you."

They made their way into the alley, amidst the punters and the women who sold their flesh for survival. Jack's jaw clenched tightly as men's eyes fell upon Phryne's body, appraising her, wondering how much of their pay they would have to part with for a piece of her. His stomach lurched, thinking he should have put up more of a fight to keep her from this place but, her hand squeezed his thigh telling him to press on.

Cec and Bert had spotted them almost immediately. Without considering the possible consequences of his actions, Cec approached and whispered to Phryne, "That bloke's here. The one we saw fighting with Payne. Thick build, light hair. Remember? He's got a red scarf."

"She's with me," Jack growled loudly, actually baring his teeth as he stepped between them. He pulled Phryne tightly to him. She appeared to shrink, and made a good show of flinching to hide her suspicion that the Inspector's voracious declaration wasn't entirely an act. He was marking his territory, like a dog - he knew. Showing dominance so other men wouldn't follow Cec's lead and presume Phryne was available. The thought of anyone laying so much as a finger on her made the blood boil in his veins. So convincing was he that even Bert looked up in surprise. Cec raised his hands in mock acquiescence and backed away, taking up a position where he could seem interested in the market and keep an eye on Miss Fisher. Much to Jack's relief, no one else dared to approach her after that little spectacle.

The young boy suddenly appeared again and gestured for Jack to follow him into the building. Jack met Phryne's eyes in a silent apology before grabbing her arm and dragging her after him. The putrid smell accosted them again and they struggled to keep the boy in sight as he wove a dizzying path around the maze. Shadows moved behind the empty shelves and the air was thick with the snouty grunts of the punters, the rustle of clothing and the wet slapping of flesh on flesh. 

A young woman of perhaps nineteen or twenty waited, scantily clad and propped against a fixture. Her hair was bobbed and dyed the bright orange of henna. She was tough and street-hardened but, a flicker of fear glinted behind her eyes as it always did before she picked up a trick.

Jack swallowed down hard on the bile that was rising in his throat. This could have easily been Jane's fate had Phryne not intervened. _Don't think about that._ Fingernails bit into his hand, attempting to jolt him back into character because he was hesitating.

"You Daisy?"

A nod.

"How much?" Jack asked in a rasping voice.

The girl looked him over, gauging her risk, before turning her hard eyes to Phryne.

"I don't do couples," she told them.

Jack barked a laugh at her. "We ain't no couple." The sneer in his voice made Phryne's mouth twitch in disgust.

Daisy's eyes trailed down the woman's arm, seeing how tightly the man clenched her with his large hand. She hadn't noticed that he had taken out several large bills.

Making a last minute decision, Jack spat on the floor and leaned into the girl. He made a big show of stuffing the bills back into his coat pocket and said, "Bound to be another ranga 'ore more willin' 'an this. I'll take my business elsewhere." He pivoted on his heel, wrenching Phryne's arm so she would follow.

"Wait." The girl's eyes found their way back to the coat pocket. She didn't trust him but that was a lot of money. She approached the woman's side and asked her under breath, "Is he? He's not...?" Daisy once again eyed the man's grip.

Phryne looked into the girl's face and softened her expression for just a moment before whispering, "He's alright."

Something about the woman's voice made her believe. The girl called Daisy pulled herself up and nodded - the cold, calculating stare back in her eyes. She nodded her head toward the man's pocket, "All of it. Up front."

Jack peeled off the bills and handed them to her but, he did not let go right away. "Not 'ere. Outside... up...up the street." He glanced around at the punters and pulled his face into a grimace.

"Whassa matter? Can't get it up in front of another bloke?" the girl taunted him. But, she fingered the money impatiently.

"Something like that," Jack muttered. The truth was, the place repulsed him so thoroughly that even the prospect of spending the rest of the night with Phryne was wasted on him. Suddenly, he felt his skin crawl as though they were being watched. "Let's go," he ordered them and Daisy, money in hand, agreed.

They slipped out of the building and out of the alley. Jack was making a beeline for the corner where Collins waited but, before they got more than a block, a stocky man in a red scarf blocked their path. His face was mottled with red patches and topped with a thatch of blond hair.

"What the hell d'ya think you're doing?" he roared at the girl.

"Leave me alone, Robbie!"

When Jack made to stand between them, the man pulled out a switchblade and touched the tip to Jack's chest. "This don't concern you, mate. Buggar off!"

"I'm afraid it does," Jack answered calmly. He had anticipated Phryne's move before she even made it.

The click of a trigger being pulled back from a pearl handled gold pistol stopped the man in his tracks, "You are threatening a police officer," Phryne told him, her cultured voice returning. "And a very fine one at that. So, I won't mind shooting you if you don't drop your weapon."

Loud footfalls approached and Cec's soft voice huffed between strangled breaths, "Miss Fisher!" He had run all the way up the street.

"Bert and Hugh?" Miss Fisher asked him.

"On their way."

A pair of eyes watched the scene unfold from the shadows. He had recognized the copper straight away. Heard him tell the blond bloke he was wanted for questioning in the death of Melvin Payne and wondered what the two red headed whores had to do with it.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

The female detective sat across from him at the long wooden table while the cop leaned against the far wall. The woman asked the questions. She had sharp eyes.

"Witnesses saw you arguing with Melvin Payne two days before he was found dead."

"So?"

"So, you certainly seem to know your way around a switchblade, Mr. Travers."

"We 'ad a row. That's it."

"Hmm. Didn't Payne take a blade to the throat, Inspector?"

The man silently handed her a manila file.

"Oh, yes. Here it is. A very similar blade, too. It's a terrible coincidence."

"I didn't kill 'im!"

"What happened? Did he get a little too cozy with Daisy?"

Travers felt his face redden and the lady detective pushed her advantage.

"That's it, isn't it. Payne was becoming a regular customer." She seemed to bore through him with her gaze. "You didn't want anyone else to have her."

"She's my sister!" he bellowed from his chair.

The woman looked surprised at this. 

"You think I knew she wuz 'orin' on the streets? Daisy ran away from 'ome when she was just a kid. Been years since I seen 'er."

"When did you find out your sister was prostituting herself?" the woman asked him in a softer tone.

"Not 'til I came round Canning Street with Mel. I knew 'im from the shipyards. He told me about this girl he was seein' regular. Said I'd like 'er." Looking down at his hands, he felt his mouth go dry. "When I found out, I went crazy. Smacked 'her around. Thought I could scare 'er straight. But, she was back there the next week. What could I do?"

"And that's when you threatened Payne?" she led.

"I cornered Mel and told him to stay away if he knew what was good for him."

"Forgive me for saying but, you don't seem terribly upset about your friend's death."

"I didn't kill him," he said in a firm voice and looked the woman straight in the eye.

"Is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts the day Melvin Payne was murdered?" the cop finally asked.

"My boss and about a dozen other wharfies down at the docks."

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

"You're not arresting me?" the girl breathed in relief.

"No, Miss Travers," said the man who had sat down across from her and introduced himself as Detective Inspector Robinson. 

Daisy now knew why she hadn't trusted him back at 110 1/2 Canning. The man _had_ been hiding something. He had actually apologized to her for his words back there, his deception - telling her how important it was that she speak to them. She had begun relax a bit into the chair, only to straighten up rigid again when the door to the Interview Room swung open.

The cop stood at the other woman's presence and pulled out a chair. The woman who had been posing as a call girl entered carrying a steaming porcelain cup and set it down gently on the table. "Thought you might do with a cup," the woman encouraged.

With disbelieving eyes, she asked, "You a cop, too?" and watched as the man and woman seemed to carry on a conversation without saying anything at all.

"No. My name is Phryne Fisher. I'm a private detective but, I sometimes consult on police matters." She spoke to Daisy in a kind voice that she was quite unused to hearing.

Taking a sip of the tea, she asked, "If I'm not under 'rest, why am I here?"

"A man called Melvin Payne was murdered. He was a client of yours." The Inspector told her.

"Daisy," began the woman, "We think his death might be linked to another. Both men worked for the rail line. Did Mr. Payne ever mention his work?"

She shook her head. "It wern't like that."

"Yes, but sometimes," the lady detective leaned in to her and said knowingly, "Men say things in the heat of the moment. Or, perhaps... after? Think back."

A strange look crossed over the Inspector's face at that. Daisy found herself wondering if the lady spoke from personal or professional experience before she answered.

"Naw. Mel never said nothin' like that. When 'e was pissed, 'e'd just yammer on about nonsense."

"Like what?" The Inspector asked. His eyes held her for a moment. She liked him being interested in what she had to say. She wasn't used to that sort of attention.

"You know. Wut men does. Braggin' mostly. Makin' hisself bigger 'n wut he was. Said 'e was about to 'ave a win'fall."

"He said he was going to come into some cash, Miss Travers?"

Daisy also liked how the Inspector respectfully called her 'Miss Travers' in that deep voice. So, she continued. " 'E wern't. It were nonsense. Donnie an' the ape, he kep' on. On an' on. Donnie an' the ape."

The two detectives shared a baffled look and she went on, "See, it wern't nothin'."

Giving her a small smile, the lady called Miss Fisher said, "Thank you, Daisy. May we offer you a ride home?"

Not wanting to waste her money on cab fare, Daisy allowed them to drop her at the boarding house off Pigdon Street where she took a small room. She fidgeted for a moment, wanting to thank them but, not knowing how. Instead, she said, "Your 'air's lovely, miss. Mine won't curl," and nervously pulled a strand of orange hair around her finger. She sat, stunned, as Miss Fisher freed some strategically placed pins and pulled the hairpiece from her head - revealing a shiny black bob.

"Go on," the woman said, holding the fall out to her, "The color suits you." 

She took it greedily, jamming it onto her head and tucking orange wisps underneath it. It smelled of the woman's perfume. Catching her reflection in the rear view mirror, she smiled broadly and left the two detectives to their silent conversations.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

"What do you think it means?" Phryne asked him on their way to St. Kilda.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"But, you do think it has to do with Timothy Donovan, the fireman from the train?"

"Mmm." Jack nodded his head, his lips spreading into a tight line. 

They didn't say anything else until he pulled the police motorcar up to Miss Fisher's home. It was well past midnight and the house was dark.

"Come in for a drink?" she asked hopefully, though she already knew the answer. He was too affected, trying to solve the puzzle while pushing away the haunting images from the alley.

"I wouldn't be very good company," Jack said, his voice like gravel.

"I think you're always good company, but, I understand."

She knew Jack had been uncomfortable with her coming along tonight. Knew he hadn't wanted her to be a party to the things he might have to say and do to get the girl to accompany him back to the waiting car. Knew he hadn't wanted to compromise her safety. Knew how hard it had been for him not to say one word in protest when she told him she was going with him and that was that. This time, Phryne had been the one to bring Bert and Cec along, thinking it might ease Jack's fears just a little.

She considered all of this as she peeled the wool glove off his hand before taking it in hers.

He looked down and saw how she held his hand, like it was something precious, and felt the surge of heat in his throat. That hand which had gripped her so tightly to maintain their cover, he feared it would leave bruises. He finally met her gaze and just looked. Looked and looked, as if trying to drown himself in the pools of clear blue. 

She shuddered.  _How could he do that with just his eyes?_ Those warm, kind, pensive eyes? They penetrated her and threatened to expose her very soul, while baring his. As if magnetized, Phryne drew nearer. She hovered in front of his mouth, giving him the chance to refuse her. She would not push him tonight. When he did not, she touched her lips and whispered that everything was alright, that he had done his duty, that his actions had kept them safe. 

His conscience was not inclined to believe her words. Jack pulled back and, sensing his recalcitrance, she allowed him to search her face for the reproof he would not find. _How could she do that with just her eyes?_ Those bright, beautiful, all-seeing eyes? Jack took her wrist and pressed his mouth to it, kissing along its length, where he had been forced to grab her. He traced the long line of her throat and remembered how his hand had spread across it, how his fingertips had dug in to show ownership, and brushed his lips across each spot. He heard her sigh, felt her breath ruffle his hair.

It was she who sought his mouth once more and settled gently into a languid, deep kiss. After several long minutes, they reluctantly broke apart.

"Goodnight, Jack. You really do make the handsomest wharfie I've ever seen," she teased as she slid out of the car.

The right side of his mouth curled upwards as he leaned over the now empty passenger seat and quipped, "I thought I was a 'very fine police officer'?" Jack didn't often quote Phryne's words back to her but, when she uttered her threat to Robbie Travers, it had truly touched him. He quirked his head at her, his expression becoming suddenly serious, daring her to poke fun at them.

She leaned into the car and stroked his face, savoring the feeling of his rough whiskers against her skin. Without a trace of jest in her voice, she said softly, "You are a great many things to me, Jack Robinson."

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Peeling herself away from the curtains, Dorothy's eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open. What was that noise?  _Oh, it was just her breathing._ What was that funny feeling in her stomach? _Probably just the cocoa._ She quickly ascended the darkened staircase and shut herself in her room. So unnerved was she, Dot had slipped under the bedclothes without even removing her robe and slippers. Pulling the covers tight up to her chin, she held her breath. It wasn't long before she heard Miss Fisher's door close with a  _snick._   

 

Dot had been worried. It was terribly late and Miss Fisher hadn't yet returned from her covert mission. Bert and Cec hadn't called, either. So, she had gone down to the kitchen and made herself a cocoa. She had been heading back upstairs when the flash of headlights had burned through the window. Curiosity had made her look and keep looking.

From what she had just witnessed, Miss Phryne could have written the article, _Techniques of the Hollywood Screen Kiss._ Inspector Robinson might have penned a few pages, as well.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you all for reading!
> 
> Fair warning: It may be a week or more before I get new chapters up. I only write my 2-3 chapters at a time because I like to ride the roller coaster, too. And, I'm afraid real life is going to kick my butt over the next few weeks (though, I'll likely need Jack & Phryne as a distraction). Anyway, please bear with me. I'll do my best to make it up to you with plenty of smut. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long night for Jack and Phryne. When we last left them, they had extracted Daisy Travers from the back alley brothel at 110-1/2 Canning Street by assuming alternate identities and Jack was still reeling from the experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely folks out there who have left kudos, comments and criticisms. It really means a lot to me and keeps me going! I appreciate everyone who left comments regarding the term "ranga" which was used in previous chapters.
> 
> Thank you *all* for being patient while my muse was being incredibly uncooperative with regard to this tale. Fortunately, there have been some really incredible posts both here on Ao3 and on fanfic to keep all of us very (very!) happy. Inspiration finally struck the other day and I hope to crank out a few more chapters this week. As always, constructive criticism is welcome!

Jack Robinson surveyed the man staring back at him.

Guilt was etched in the lines of the man's mouth and the dark shadows under his eyes made him look weary. The Inspector attempted to read him like he would any other person brought in for questioning though, he struggled to be objective in this case. He knew he wouldn't play favorites - quite the opposite, in fact. He worried about judging too harshly. Peering closer, he found a ray of forgiveness in the man's eyes that had not existed before.

The Inspector's lids fell shut. The evening's events replayed in his mind's eye like a moving picture. Even after years on the force, he would never get used to seeing women treated that way. Like chattel. It spoke volumes that the Inspector could appreciate the so-called "protection" of a place like the Imperial Club when compared to this back alley operation where girls were headed for a lifetime of pain. _How many traumas had they suffered?_   Daisy Travers had been wary of him, he had seen it in her eyes when she recognized his forceful grip all too well.

A shudder came over him as he wondered if Miss Fisher's skin recalled the sensation from when she had suffered at Rene DuBois' hand. He quickly pushed that thought away before it could take root. Surely, she would not have been able to hold him the way she had if she felt the least bit of fear.

Instead, Jack chose to focus on his own flesh memory. The strength of her hands cradling his. The softness of her lips. Her touch was like a balm to him. Soothing his wounds. Easing his burden.

He remembered Phryne's words, the grace she had offered before he had even asked it of her. Because she knew that he would never ask.

He had never experienced a connection as close as the one he and Phryne shared, even before they had become intimate. They had long been able to communicate without words - a pointed glance or the lilt of an eyebrow - often leaving those around them baffled. Whether through relentless observation, keen instinct or a shared kindred spirit, she had come to know him so well.

Jack was long accustomed to bearing the weight of his guilt, his afflictions. And though the reason for entirely new worries, it was she who had been the one to exorcize his deepest fears and free the spirit that longed to live again.

His heavy lids opened to examine his own irises in the mirror once more. Phryne had let in the light - absolving him of his sins when he could not. Jack's features softened, making him suddenly appear years younger, and he began to scrub the residue of the night away.

When he climbed into his bed at last, he rested his head where hers had lain. Wrapped in a warm cocoon of her lingering scent, he fell asleep.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

For the first time, Miss Fisher was not partial to keeping the new twist in their partnership a secret. She had wanted him to stay - had longed to drag him up the stairs to her private bath and use her hands to wash away his guilt in a flurry of hot, soapy water. A baptism of the flesh to relieve him of any lingering doubts.

But he had refused even their customary nightcap. Of course. He wanted to be alone with his conscience and if she knew one thing about Jack Robinson, it was that he was very nearly as stubborn as she.

Somehow, she had sensed that DuBois was on his mind. Phryne knew what Daisy must have felt. To look into the eyes of a man, afraid that a word might set off a chain reaction of anger and violence. The Inspector had once witnessed her visceral reaction to her ex-lover. Had heard her declaration of independence - even as tears had flooded her eyes and the gun had shaken in her hands. She knew it was not something Jack would ever likely forget.

But it would have surprised Jack to know that, even in his portrayal of dominance and possessiveness, she had not felt anything but care in his touch. Her trust in him was steadfast. Her faith unshakeable. In this man who risks everything for her. She had done her best to convey this, showing him what words could hardly do justice to. If Jack was determined to face his demons alone, she hoped her ministrations had rendered them less potent.

She fingered the cut crystal tumbler, hesitating. His taste was still on her tongue. Its richness better medicine than the whiskey.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Mr. Butler had always been the earliest riser at the Fisher residence. His internal alarm clock simply would not allow him to sleep past the break of dawn, at least, not since he had lost Mrs. Butler. To find Miss Fisher's young companion in the kitchen, already halfway through preparing morning tea, came as quite a surprise to the normally unflappable man. "Dorothy! What ever is the matter?"

She proffered a cup of tea and said conspiratorially, "Help me with the bacon and I'll tell you."

A wide smile spread across the butler's face as Dot told her tale of catching her mistress kissing the Inspector. Or was it the other way around? She opted to omit the more sensational bits that seemed both scandalous and strangely appealing in equal measure - an assessment of which she was sure Father Grogan would not approve.

"I think we've been hoodwinked, Dorothy."

Not much escaped Mr. Butler's attention. Like the fact that Miss Fisher had not come home the night before last - claiming she was on a stakeout. Or that the Detective Inspector seemed particularly affected over dinner - a fact that he suspected had little to do with his roast chicken, tasty as it was.

"They did seem awfully..."

Mr. Butler looked at her quizzically as she searched for the right word. "Familiar?" he finally offered, taking pity on her.

"Well, yes. Though, I'm hardly one to judge."

"You're a woman in love, Dorothy. You're far more qualified than most to judge."

She blushed furiously at this assessment but, did not correct him. It was true, her heart had felt fit to burst ever since Hugh had agreed to a long engagement. Since then, she had even saved her Constable from one of Fletcher's henchmen and more recently, helped him recover valuable evidence in the Bairnsdale train murder case - the trunk in which the assailant had hidden.

"The trunks! I almost forgot," she murmured as the niggling feeling returned to the pit of her stomach as she remembered looking over the luggage manifests from the train. "Mr. Butler, how many trunks did Miss Fisher take with her to Bairnsdale?"

He thought back, saw himself carrying the trunks with Cecil in his mind's eye. "Two. Why do you ask?"

"I think I may know more about detective work than Miss Fisher would fancy right about now," she replied with a grin that came as close to mischievous as Dorothy's nature would allow.

Mr. Butler understood her to mean she would speak no more about her assumptions until they were proven true and nodded swiftly at the girl as a show of support.

After several quiet moments, each absorbed in their thoughts, Tobias ventured, "You know, Dorothy? Tomorrow is my evening off."

"Yes?" Dot encouraged. Of course, she knew his schedule but didn't understand the implication.

"I think, perhaps, we should give our lovebirds some time to stretch their wings. Isn't there a picture you and your betrothed would like to see?"

"I'm afraid Hugh is working, Mr. Butler."

"Well, in that case, would you care to do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow night Miss Williams?" he asked with a kind smile. 

Dot's face flushed with happiness. She had come to consider the man like a second father. "It would be my pleasure!"

The back door suddenly opened wide, admitting two rumpled cabbies who attacked the plates of bacon and drop scones like they hadn't seen food in a month. In between sips of tea, Bert and Cec chewed and recounted their adventures at 110-1/2 Canning Street, opting to omit the more sensational bits - which would surely have sent Dottie running to the nearest confessional.

Bert thought that it was a good decision judging by the way she was wincing.

But in truth, it was the appalling views of their half-masticated breakfast that was affecting Dot more than the story. She was a lot stronger than they thought but apparently no one had told her stomach.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Shaking his cramped hand, Jack wondered how he could ever put anything behind him when reports were required in triplicate. It had been several days since he and Miss Fisher had gone undercover and he still felt his skin crawl when he thought about the place. The Inspector wasn't naive - he knew that as soon as you cut one head off the hydra, two more grew up in its place - but, he couldn't let this one pass. It had affected him too much. Vice had to be brought in so they could shut down the back street brothel and that complicated matters.

"Sir!" Collins said by way of good morning. "Here's the evidence report you've been waiting for." He held the packet out like a present and it was taken as such, with hands grateful to be doing something other than writing for a moment.

"Thank you, Constable. Did you ever manage to find out what took them so long?" The Inspector gestured to the seat across his desk and Collins took it quickly, before his superior could change his mind.

"Ah, yes Sir. It was a problem with the photography."

"Pictures look fine to me," the DI mused as he shuffled through the contents of the packet.

"Apparently, one of the D&Ds got turned around and mistook the vat of developer for the head, Sir. They had to wait for a new batch." Collins looked down at his hands as he said this, pulling his face into a familiar, contorted grimace.

Jack allowed himself a small chuckle before turning his attention to the actual report. "Nothing of note from Payne's effects. No surprises there. No fingerprints recovered from either crime scene. Hmmm. This is interesting."

"What is, Sir?"

"A boot print inside the trunk that you and Miss Williams secured."

"Could it have been Miss Fisher's, Sir? She did climb in."

"No. According to this, it's from some kind of work boot with a distinctive sole. Miss Fisher was wearing her black patent leathers that day."

Collins' head twisted in momentary consternation. Would Inspector Robinson really have noticed the lady's shoes had they not been worn by The Honourable Miss Fisher? Well, the man was a Detective Inspector, after all - the youngest in Melbourne to reach that rank. It was to be expected that he possessed some extraordinary skills. But, all the same, Hugh's eyes narrowed as he watched his boss reading the report and deigned to test his theory.

"What about me, Sir? My boots, I mean."

The Inspector's gaze snapped upward and trapped Hugh for a moment in the cold beam. "You didn't get in the trunk, Collins."

"Oh! Right, Sir," he fumbled. Okay, perhaps he wasn't ready to go toe to toe with his mentor just yet. "It's just, ah. I couldn't remember."

The DI nodded, seemingly accepting the younger man's confusion before adding, "Besides, your boot is larger than the one that left this mark."

 _Crikey._ The man was good. Hugh resolved that if he were going to keep up with the Inspector, he really needed to step up his own powers of observation. The Constable was pulled out of this thought when he realized he was being addressed and quickly grabbed up the photograph bearing the print, handing it over the desk.

"...confirms our theory. Someone was waiting inside that trunk."

Jack reached in to the drawer at his left and pulled out a magnifying glass to examine the picture more closely. The lines were faint but, he could make out a pattern of large horizontal X's and diamonds. It wasn't much of a lead but, it was more than they had moments ago.

Collins was dispatched with the report and orders to have the police sketch artist draw up a better image for him to show around to the local cobblers.

It took Jack another hour to finish the blasted reports and get them properly routed: one for his file, one for Vice and another for the new Deputy Commissioner. There was no telling how long it would take to get the necessary bureaucratic sign offs on the raid but, he had done all he could, for now.

It was with that somewhat satisfying thought that his telephone rang. Agreeing with the caller that it had indeed been a long time since breakfast, his heart gave a lurch. He suddenly realized that he wasn't only hungry for food.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

"Jack!"

She stepped off the tram and her wide open smile dazzled him nearly as much as the delight with which she had called his name. He blushed at his own reaction and approached her, regarding how blue her eyes looked under the plum coloured brim of her cloche. The way her grey cashmere coat pulled away ever so slightly from her hips. The fluid movement of her black trousers as she took long strides toward him.

Now that he was back in her presence, he felt keenly just how much he had missed her. He extended his arm to her, the corner of his mouth twisting upward despite his best effort to control it.

Ever the daring one, Phryne pecked a kiss to his cheek, taking care not to up-end his hat as she twisted her hand through the loop at his elbow.

"Miss Fisher," he warned, as he guided her to his favorite sandwich shop on this side of town.

"You worry too much, Jack," she told him in a tone that was half-goading and half-earnest.

"I worry just enough," he retorted though, his eyes sparkled at her. "What if we're seen?"

"So what if we are?"

"I wouldn't like to have to explain myself to those two rabble rousers."

"Firstly, I would be the one doing the explaining as I was the one doing the _kissing_." She paused to let that sink in for a moment, smiling to herself when she felt the slightest shiver through his many layers, before pressing on. "Secondly, 'those two rabble rousers' are off duty today and are likely knee deep in pints by now." She arched her eyebrow imperiously at him, daring him to argue the point any further.

"Well, when you put it _that_ way..." Jack conceded before he abruptly stopped walking and used the arm she was holding to pivot her suddenly toward him. His free hand caught her cheek and he pressed a fiery kiss to her lips, angling his head so his hat gave them a modicum of privacy.

It was over in seconds - the heat from his mouth disappearing far too quickly for her liking - and she felt herself being tugged along, still in a daze. As he innocently resumed their path to the eatery, Jack noted with satisfaction that the unflappable Phryne Fisher was shocked dumb.

They crossed two more streets and rounded a corner before he led her into the luncheonette. The glass front window bore the name, "Worth's" in a flourish of peeling red paint and a tinkling bell announced their arrival.

"Jackie!" Called the old man from behind the counter. "Musta lost your reservation, lad! Take a seat. Where e're you like."

Jack missed the wink that accompanied this welcome. The small shop was packed and no tables were free. He knew this wasn't exactly fine dining but he had at least hoped to have been able to offer Phryne a proper chair.

Phryne sensed his dilemma almost instantly. "I don't mind the counter," she reassured him.

And that, Jack reminded himself, was the beautiful thing about Phryne Fisher. Class distinctions never bothered her, having herself been on both sides of the aisle. For all her posh exterior, her expensive clothes, her perfectly coiffed hair, inside - where it counted - beat the soul of a free spirit.

He had taken a risk, bringing Phryne here. This was his place. He had been coming to Worth's regularly since Rosie had moved in with her sister. There were only so many nights he could eat eggs and toast for dinner and that pretty much exhausted the effort he was willing to put in after a long shift. Over the years, he had built up a rapport with the owner and his wife they way you do when the lines between customer and friend begin to blur. While they weren't privy to the details of his private life, these people treated him like family. Made him feel welcome - long before the refuge of Miss Fisher's parlour had even existed.

Jack relieved them of their coats and hats and hung them on the only free stand, noticing how the beige and purple print of her silk blouse was echoed in his tie. That seemed to be happening more and more, here of late. He chuckled softly to himself, wondering if their connection was so strong it had infiltrated their sartorial choices or whether she had him surveilled before she dressed for the day. Either seemed a distinct possibility.

She clambered up on the stool with enthusiasm, setting her handbag on the counter and graciously accepting a handwritten menu from the old man who was winking at her. "So, _Jackie,_ " she teased, leaning into him. "What's good here?"

"Everything!" the man interrupted, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Max, may I present Miss Phryne Fisher. Miss Fisher, this is Maxwell Worth, purveyor of this fine establishment."

"Any friend of Jack's is a friend of mine," Mr. Worth told her sincerely.

Phryne extended her hand, with more than her usual charm. It was then that she realized this wasn't just a place to eat to Jack. This was _his_ place. She suddenly felt humbled and inexplicably happy. "I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment, Mr. Worth."

Max looked to Jack, who was watching his fuddled reaction in amusement. The lady's response would have rang false had he not been caught by the depth of feeling in her eyes. There was definitely something special about her, Max decided. Jack had never brought a woman with him before - and he had been eating here for years. Come to think of it, Max reckoned that Jack had never brought anyone here before. Well, except that nervous looking Constable he once sent to pick up an order. But that hardly counted.

"What'll it be then? Usual, Jackie?"

Jack's mouth drew down while his eyebrows shot up and gave a swift nod.

"And you, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne simply shrugged and said with a grin, "I'll have what he's having."

Max smiled widely at her. He didn't know who this lass was but he sure did like her style. "Alright then. Won't be a few minutes. I'll send the misses out with a pot of tea." Surveying them one last time, Max whisked off to the kitchen.

Phryne looked sidelong into Jack's face only to catch him looking at her. They shared a moment of quiet understanding. It was an attempt to bring her into his world - if only for lunch.

Mrs. Worth bustled out to the counter with a steaming pot of tea, "Been missing you, dear!" One look at the entranced couple in front of her told the woman all she needed to know. Her husband was right - they looked good together.

"Good to see you, too, Ruby. I've been out of town. Police business," Jack told her in an effort to explain his absence for the past several weeks.

"Of course," she said kindly, but her sharp, green eyes told Jack that she had seen through the lie. "And, who's this lovely young lady?"

Jack made another round of introductions and was pleased that Mrs. Worth didn't make too big of a fuss. Though, she did throw him a knowing smile while pouring his tea.

"You're very popular, here," Phryne observed. Her tone was one of innocent observation but Jack knew better.

"It's my natural charm, Miss Fisher," Jack evaded with a smirk.

It was a favorite game. Phryne wanted answers so, naturally, he withheld them. Sooner or later, she would use her own considerable charms to wheedle the information from him. He gave an involuntary chill at the thought.

Reading him like a book, Phryne pressed her knee against his under the counter. She brought her tea cup to her lips and whispered so only he could hear, "Which you possess in abundance, Inspector."

Their sultry thoughts were interrupted as plates were set in front of them. "Two 'usuals'," Max announced and with a wink to Miss Fisher, "Bon appetit." Thick, homemade bread was filled with roast beef and coated with a rich pan sauce. The aroma was heavenly and the first bite of their au jus sandwiches had them humming happily.

Phryne dabbed at her mouth with her serviette. Pleasantly full, she had surrendered and watched as Jack put away every last crumb. _Insatiable appetite,_ she wickedly thought to herself. "Don't tell Mr. Butler, but I think that was even better than his."

"Your secret's safe with me," Jack clucked. "I wouldn't want to get on his bad side." He pulled some folded notes from his pocket and dropped them on the counter before offering his hand to help her down.

As Jack went to fetch their coats, Phryne found herself fixed by a pair of green eyes. "Never seen him this happy. Do take care. Won't you, dear?" Too shocked by the earnestness of the woman's observation to deny it, Phryne simply nodded her head. "Of course."

Ruby Worth plastered a smile to her face as Jack headed back with coats and hats in hand. Satisfied she did the right thing, Ruby watched as he helped the lady into her coat, not missing how his hands lingered on her shoulders just a little longer than necessary. "Don't stay away too long!" she called after them and was rewarded with the two glowing faces that glanced back at her.

They opted to walk back to City South instead of catching the tram, the exercise most welcome after such a rich meal. And, if the choice happened to afford them a bit longer in the privacy of each others' company, so much the better.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne wrapped up their lunch "date" and headed to City South.

The Station was unusually quiet. A few of the sergeants had gone out for lunch and the front desk was being manned by Constable Mathis, whom Miss Fisher recognized and offered a friendly greeting as she led the Inspector into his own office.

If Mathis found this this the least bit odd, he didn't show it. He had long gotten over his shock at the lady coming and going as she pleased, showing up at crime scenes and even being allowed to interrogate suspects. Early on, he had asked Collins about her. As Robinson's Constable, Collins obviously had to endure the woman's presence much more frequently than he did. Mathis remembered his words perfectly, "Brilliant, mate. Nice, too. But, a bit scary." Mathis had laughed at the time but had learned exactly what his friend meant.

Like most of the younger lads stationed at City South, he had come to view the lady as a welcome fixture. Besides the fact that her staff singlehandedly kept them in biscuits, Miss Fisher was pleasant, attentive and very, very easy on the eyes. Unkind rumors circulated, to be sure. But, that was mostly from the stodgy lot who thought a woman had no business in police work. Or, from those whose conviction rate was much, much lower than the DI's. Mathis had no such problems - he might be young but he wasn't stupid. He was well aware that shit rolled downhill. Detective Inspector Robinson was the highest ranking officer at City South and if Miss Fisher managed to improve his stats as well as his mood, well, it was a win for everyone.

It had been different this last month, though. His boss had been in a glowering disposition and they were all keenly reminded of how it had been before Miss Fisher had swept into their lives. His poor mate, Hugh, seemed to be bearing the brunt of the Inspector's ill temper, albeit with hardly a word's complaint. But, that was before the DI had taken some long overdue leave.

Now that he was back, Mathis was relieved to see that the two detectives finally seemed to be back on an even keel and he hummed to himself as he filed last night's arrest reports.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Phryne made herself comfortable, perching in her usual spot on the corner of Jack's desk for the sole purpose of giving him grief, and skimmed the new evidence report.

"No Hugh today?"

Jack had been momentarily distracted from his files by the glimpse of ankle that peeked out from beneath her black trousers and ended in a criss-crossed encasement of suede heels the colour of oxblood. _Good Lord._

"What? Oh. He's out. Asking around about these," Jack offered her the photograph of the boot tread, though he didn't let go of his side when she went to take it.

She tore her eyes from the report to meet his gaze. He quirked at her, his eyebrow raising a fraction. He was freely sharing confidential police information, after all. Phryne rolled her eyes at this before leaning toward him and whispering in a velvet timbre, "Thank you, Inspector Robinson." Her lips curved in satisfaction as he released the image, hands flying to his throat to straighten his tie.

Phryne examined the photograph carefully. "It's a bit of a long shot."

"I agree. But, there isn't much else to go on. I was thinking another chat with the train's engineer might be in order but..."

Jack didn't have a chance to finish his thought as a loud knock sounded on the door frame. "Inspector?"

"What is it, Mathis?"

"Sorry to interrupt but, there's a girl out here. Says she got some information for you. But, she won't tell me anything else. She says she'll only speak to you."

Miss Fisher turned wide eyes from the Constable to Jack, curiosity already propelling her toward the door.

Jack just managed to close the gap between them when he caught sight of the shock of bright hair. "Miss Travers! I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Daisy Travers looked up at the handsome policeman, now shaved and dressed in a three piece suit and shrugged her shoulders. "Life's funny innit?" she agreed. "G'day, miss," she added to the lady, who was also looking far more lovely than when she had last seen her, dressed in her own finery. She hadn't hoped that the woman would be there again, too. But as taken as Daisy was with the man, she was even more intrigued with the pair of them.

"Hello Daisy," Miss Fisher said warmly. "I'll just leave you to it, Inspector." Clearly, the young woman was here to confide in Jack - not that she blamed her. As far as Miss Fisher was concerned, the Inspector might as well have worn a sign that read, _knight in shining armor_.

But, Daisy addressed the lady quietly so the Constable couldn't overhear, "Please stay. You was right, miss."

"Miss Fisher, please show Miss Travers into our... I mean, _my_ office."

The Inspector bit down hard on his cheek to keep from smirking at his own slip-up. Oh, he was going to pay the price for that one. And, if Miss Fisher's eyebrows were any indication, payment was going to be steep. Grateful for an empty bull-pen, he fixed Constable Mathis with a steely look before disappearing to the tea room. At least his subordinate had the decency to look cowed.

Crossing the threshold with a tea tray, Jack found the two women seated next to each other, engaging in quiet conversation of a seemingly personal nature. He caught the tail end of Miss Fisher's words and watched with softened eyes as she handed Daisy a small, white card, "... I could help you." He cleared his throat, shutting the door behind him, and set the tray on his desk.

Daisy accepted the cup that was offered to her, along with a biscuit from a tin which the policeman had pulled from a bottom drawer.

"What can I do for you, Miss Travers?" the Inspector began.

Four curious eyes watched as the young woman pulled a crumpled envelope from the pocket of her jumper, smoothing the paper with hands gloved in tattered lace.

"This come in the post. Were addressed to me."

Inspector Robinson pulled on a pair of black leather gloves before taking the envelope. He turned it in his hands and felt something solid in the corner. "No return address."

"There's a note inside. It's from 'im," she said as if it were obvious. Then added, on second thought, "Mel, I mean."

Daisy noticed the two detectives share one of their looks over the tea tray and felt an unexpected but welcome warmth. He extracted the note and read it aloud, "Keep this safe. M."

The detective tilted his head, "Melvin Payne was obviously a man of few words. If he is the one who sent this to you." Tipping the envelope, a small silver key fell into his palm.

"Do you know what that key opens, Daisy?" Miss Fisher asked.

"Naw, miss. Never seen it before."

"Miss Travers, did Mister Payne ever ask you to hide things for him? Money? A weapon, perhaps?"

She shook her head "no" at the Inspector, "Was right surprised when I opened it. Then I remembered wut you said, miss."

Miss Fisher looked puzzled. "Refresh my memory?"

Daisy laughed, "You said sometimes men say things... after."

"So, Payne mentioned a cache?" the Inspector interrupted.

Phryne shot him a warning look and redirected, "What did he say, Daisy?"

A soft look came over the girl's face at the recollection. She addressed her words to Miss Fisher who, for some reason, she felt would understand. "Called me a 'good girl.' Said 'e knew 'e could trust me."

The lady smiled kindly at her and nodded her head.

"He only signed his initial. How do you know it was Melvin Payne?" Miss Fisher asked.

"Knew it were 'is hand."

The lady detective was impressed. She, too, had recognized the scrawl that matched the note they had found in Melvin Payne's flat.

Jack waited until the young woman had finished her tea before asking, "Who else knows about this key? Your brother?"

Daisy looked from the policeman to the lady, both of whom were now looking at her intently. Protectively. She faltered under the unfamiliar feeling.

"Miss Travers?"

"No one," she mumbled. "I come to you, straight away." Daisy could feel the blush creeping up her neck at her last words and cast her eyes down to her empty tea cup. It wasn't that she wanted this man. It was the respect and kindness he showed her that she craved. Perhaps the lady was right about other things, too. Perhaps it was time she got out.

The Inspector shifted ever so slightly in his seat and looked pointedly - though unnecessarily - at Miss Fisher.

Phryne had understood the situation perfectly and was already in the process of soothing the girl, placing hand on her shoulder and assuring her, "You did the right thing."

After a few moments, Daisy nodded and stood up. "Thanks for the tea."

The Inspector rose politely and escorted her from his office. "Thank you for coming in, Miss Travers." Normally, there was a line that Jack didn't like to cross when it came to witnesses and suspects. Whether due to the dark circumstances of their acquaintance or the young woman herself, he cautiously put a toe across it. "Take care of yourself. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to call."

Daisy looked up into Inspector Robinson's concerned eyes, then to Miss Fisher's. Steeling herself, she nodded. "I hope you catch the bastard. "Mel weren't no saint. But, 'e didn't deserve to die."

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

 _Things were getting out of hand,_ he thought to himself. He had spent years being careful, changing his name, working on foreign-bound ships to throw them off the trail. Only to come back to Melbourne and find himself face to face with the one man who could send him to the gaol. He plotted his maneuvers carefully, ensured the man had talked to no one and set the plan in motion. That would have been it if the greedy bastard hadn't suspected - hadn't tried to blackmail him. And now, this.

From across the street, he watched as the red haired whore left the police station. He briefly wondered if they had locked her up for the night, until he realized she was far more covered up than when he last saw her. _Did she know anything? Best to find out._ He set out at a leisurely pace, keeping well behind her and buying a paper before joining her and the small crowd at the tram stop.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Miss Fisher circled back round the desk and picked up the key, this time cheekily taking the Inspector's chair and propping her feet on the desk. "You know, Jack?" she began in a tone he knew all too well. _Here we go, then,_ he thought and squared his shoulders for battle.

"I think _our_ office could use some sprucing up. A fresh coat a paint? Some artwork? What do you think?"

Jack looked at her with that expression of exasperation and amusement that she had come to love so well. He considered all the possible dead pan, jocular responses he could give her - all of which, he knew, would result in escalating their banter. "I wouldn't change a thing. It's perfect as it is," he finally retorted, his decision made. His voice was low and lush, his features suddenly serious. "Because you're here."

It was a calculated gamble, putting into words what he had felt for over a year. But, he reasoned, it wasn't anything she didn't already know.

Jack loved his work. Loved putting the pieces of the puzzle together using his mind and distinct powers of observation. For years, it was the only thing he had taken pride in and he did it well. But there was no doubt she elevated his game. It was an amusement at first. A race to see who could get there first and she often won. Though that didn't bother him in the least. Then, he had begun to look forward to her visits. Had wanted to feel the electric charge in the air when she challenged his thinking and pushed his boundaries. Had looked forward to seeing what incredibly over the top ensemble she had donned to visit his decaying office with its peeling paint and dusty mementos of years long since past. And yet, she looked as if she belonged there. The dichotomy amused him and he wondered, with appreciation for the irony of the situation, if he didn't look equally strange in her opulent parlour in his respectable, but plain, attire.

It was during the investigation of the death of the poor gravedigger - when she had sprawled on his desk, white fur cascading everywhere - that he realized she _did,_ in fact, belong there. His office had become as much _their_ sanctuary as her own parlour. His mind trawled through the many intimacies they had shared here: the first real confession of their mutual attraction - _it happens,_ she had said - to her comprehension of the care he had put into reconstructing her sister's kidnapping; the dark night she had found him here, drunk and out of his mind with grief for reasons she did not yet grasp; the day he had very nearly kissed her, her hand lingering on his tie; and the terrible moment he cast her out again, long weeks ago. But, that altercation had brought them to their current understanding and he could not regret it. _No. He would not change a thing._

Her narrowed eyes gave way to a dazzling smile. Jack knew he wouldn't get off that easy in the long run but, his honesty seemed to disarm her for the moment. They shared a lingering look before Phryne turned her attention to the key glinting on the desktop. The pull of a mystery - it was irresistible. She picked it up and held it under the lamp.

"Safety deposit box?" Jack wondered as he leaned on the desk, propping himself up with one arm, the other on his hip.

"I thought that, too. But, I don't think it's the right size. Perhaps a strong box?"

"Perhaps. But, we didn't find one in his flat."

"If he hid it at the train station, we may never find it," she sighed.

The key was old and battered but, there was something scratched at the top - more than just wear and tear. Snatching up Jack's magnifying glass, she tried to make it out but it was faint. At her prompting, Jack leaned over and examined it, too, doing his best to ignore the smell of Phryne's perfume. The fine scratches seemed to blend together and the light reflected off the surface, making it too difficult to discern one mark from another.

Without a word, Jack was out the door. Her eyes followed him as far as she could see before he disappeared behind the front desk. When he returned, he carried a small metal tumbler in his hands. He spread yesterday's newspaper over his desk and dumped the contents of the tumbler on to it: dark grey dust and wood shavings. Sparing a look to Miss Fisher, he saw the comprehension dawning on her face.

"Graphite from the pencil sharpener?"

He nodded, amusement in his eyes as curiosity burned in hers and he was happy for the opportunity to impress her with an old trick. He dipped his thumb into the smudgy powder and pressed it into the surface of the key, adding more and smearing it in. Then, he took his handkerchief and gently wiped it off. The dark graphite stuck into the grooves of the scratches and made the lines stand out.

"Clever man," Phryne breathed.

The lilt of her voice found the exact place on his spine that made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He cleared his throat in a grab at control. "That looks like a four," he ventured, pointing a large finger at a very small mark. "And an eight?"

"No. A three. So, it could be a safety deposit key, after all?" Miss Fisher reasoned in the same breathy tone and turned to find her lips just inches from Jack's. _It would be so easy to kiss him,_ she thought.

Jack must have read her mind because despite his altered breathing, his eyes seemed to beg her not to. _Not here._

She tore her gaze from Jack's pained face only to find the Inspector's constable standing in the door frame, his mouth hanging open, brows buried somewhere near the realm of his part. Presumably, this was due to her sitting in his boss' chair with his boss draped very nearly on top of her.

"Hello, Hugh!" She called out delightedly. She never tired of Hugh's discombobulated reactions.

"Uh, Sir. M-Miss Fisher." He tipped his head to each of of them, though he aimed it in the wrong places.

"Anything on the prints, Collins?" Jack schooled authority into his voice as he straightened up. He empathized with the lad. If Miss Fisher was still managing to trip him up, what chance did Collins stand?

"Not so far, Sir. No one recognized them. Though, I did get the name of an importer to try."

The Inspector nodded his approval of this adding, "And I need you to call the bank. See if Melvin Payne took out a safety deposit box."

"Yes, Sir," Hugh replied obediently, gesturing to his helmet. "Let me just stow this in my locker."

"What did you just say, Constable?"

"Uh. Ah. Nevermind. I can do it now, Sir."

"Your locker!" Miss Fisher repeated, already on her feet. "It's not a bank box, Jack. He rented a locker at the train station. Hugh! You're a genius!"

They were already past the gate before the Inspector called over his shoulder, "Coming, Collins?"

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Fisher, the Inspector and his trusty Constable head to the train station to uncover what promises to be some valuable new evidence. Jack and Phryne spend some much deserved time alone but, Jack takes things a bit too far (or so he thinks).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I know some of you will be tempted: DO NOT read the End Notes before reading this chapter. Spoilers, people.

The Melbourne sky had turned a sickly shade of yellow as storm clouds swept in. People darted in and out of the Flinders Street Station, hoping to beat the impending downpour. The sound of the flash bulb only added to the din that echoed throughout the train station and a few passersby mistook the sudden shock of brightness for lightning.

Locker 43 was one in a long row, just off the station's main interior thoroughfare. _Perfect for providing cover,_ the Inspector noted. A person could easily slip from the crowd and be covered by the steady stream of foot traffic. Collins stowed the camera in his bag and pulled out his notepad, waiting at attention for the Inspector to begin his assessment.

But it was Miss Fisher who reached in to the locker first, her greedy, gloved hand seizing  a thick envelope which turned out to contain a large amount of cash.

She surprised Jack by waving, not him but, Collins closer. This was usually _their_ game, the banter back and forth, turning the pieces of the puzzle this way and that to see what fit best. Perhaps Phryne wanted to make amends for putting Hugh in such an awkward position earlier or at least pay him back for leading them to the conclusion that they key belonged to a locker. She was happy to take the young man under her wing. Had been from the beginning. Though, Jack suspected that her motives back then had been more about extracting information with the added bonus of getting under his own skin.

He remembered how furious he had been once at Collins for passing information back to this maddening woman who had dared to show up uninvited to the morgue to question his witness - the young Latvian's fiancé. In Russian, no less! If he were honest (which he finally could be), it wasn't Collins he had been angry with at all - it had been himself. How his insides had burned at the sight of her! Despite what his ethics would allow. The echo of his own voice telling her that her _nudging along Collins' fledgling career was something he could do without_ reverberated in his head ironically.

Jack wouldn't be impressed if his constable ever attempted to adopt some of the lady detective's more unorthodox methods, but there was a lot to be learned from her formidable powers of observation.

Hugh looked to his boss for permission - which was granted by the slightest nod - before stepping forward.

Miss Fisher fanned out the bills, estimating that there was close to £100, far more than Melvin Payne's meager monthly wages. "What do you see, Hugh? Look at the amounts." she queried, her voice soft but prompting.

"Ah. They're almost all pound notes."

"Good," she replied and his face broke into a relieved smile. "What else?"

Collins ran a thumb through the bills. They were worn, creased - not a one looked new. "They've all been in circulation?"

"Very astute!" she praised as she dropped the envelope into the evidence bag Jack held at the ready, ignoring the bemusement in his eyes as he watched her play teacher. "I would wager that these are payments that have been collected over time."

Next to be extracted from the locker was a half dozen papers, rolled up like a tube. Phryne's eyes narrowed as she quickly gleaned the pages.

Emboldened by his first success, Hugh stepped up. "Shipping manifests, Miss. Dottie and I filed some just like these."

"Shipping manifests? Perhaps our hostler was engaged in a sideline business?" Her eyes looked to Jack's for confirmation.

"Or one of opportunity," the Inspector suggested, his own hunches playing out in his mind.

"What now, Sir?"

"See if you can extract any fingerprints, Collins. Then, meet me down in the records office. I want the names of everyone who worked on board each of the trains listed on these manifests." At that moment, a terrific clap of thunder punctuated the Inspector's orders. "Miss Fisher?"

Phryne opted to head back to St. Kilda before the bottom fell out, leaving the mundane tasks to the constabulary and not minding in the slightest. "That's what I have you for!" she touted.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her as he attempted to flag her down a cab. "I'm gratified to know you find me useful in at least one regard, Miss Fisher," he shot back.

"I can think of several ways you could be _very_ useful to me, Inspector." The way her silky voice lingered on his title caused a stab of longing to shoot through his body. She looked up at him through her fringe of dark lashes, pinning him with her gaze.

It took him a moment to realize that he no longer had to cast his eyes away and pretend to ignore her thinly veiled reference. The corner of his mouth twisted as he asked her if she would care to elaborate on that point after his shift ended. It turned out she would. In detail. At his place.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Miss Fisher did not like having to lie. Well, not about this anyway. When she announced that she was going out for a late supper and perhaps some dancing (and, no, there was no reason for them to wait up), Dot and Mr. Butler took it in stride. She was grateful that neither pushed her for specifics.

Fortunately Dorothy had been working on perfecting her poker face for many months now. Otherwise, her miss would surely have seen though the charade. Though, perhaps Miss Fisher was preoccupied with a charade of her own.

The young woman took advantage of the opportunity and asked for the following evening off, citing how easily tonight's tea could be preserved - if it wouldn't be too inconvenient for her mistress to have the house to herself.

Mr. Butler had to hand it to the girl. She was getting good.

 

 

XXXXX

 

 

Jack was in an excellent mood. He and Collins had made some very interesting discoveries in the records office of the train station, he had managed to slip out of City South with perfect timing - just as two men arguing over a bingle were being ushered in by a frazzled Constable Mathis and, to top it all off, he was expecting to spend the evening with a certain lady detective.

He bustled around his small kitchen, cleaning up after his hasty dinner (eggs and toast again - _dammit!_ ) and making sure the stove had enough wood to keep burning through the night. The storm that had rolled in earlier sent the temperature plummeting and, if the sudden bursts of light outside the window were any indication, there was another on the way. He was humming absentmindedly as he made his way to his room, to hang up his suit jacket.

Distracted by the sound of thunder rolling ever closer, he finally recognized the tune. It was, "Let's Misbehave." Barking a laugh out loud at his second parapraxis of the day, he wondered what Miss Fisher would think of that.

 _Miss Fisher._ She would be there soon. Jack suddenly felt nervous. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau, he wondered if he should change. What was the protocol, exactly? He had absolutely no idea. Phryne was the only guest he had ever had at his flat - and that was just days ago. He thought of all the evenings had he trudged into her parlour in the many layers of armor he had worn all day and felt the need to make some kind of effort - sure as he was that she would.

Dashing into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face. _There, that was better._ He rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, reticent to take it off himself. His waistcoat was left firmly buttoned, though he did opt to undo the collar of his shirt. He combed his hair as best he could, given how unruly as it was this time of day, after the many donnings and doffings of his hat. 

Settling himself into a chair with some reading material and a stiff drink seemed a sensible thing to do before his overactive brain landed him either in his tuxedo or sprawled naked on the bed. Neither of which he thought Phryne would mind, of course - though it wouldn't do much for his pride.

But instead of a book, he reached for his notepad, knowing that going over the case would calm him. He had made it through three pages and was sketching out a strategy for tomorrow's interviews when a knock sounded lightly.

Phryne slunk through the opened door like a burglar on the prowl, quickly taking in the room once again as if to make sure she didn't miss anything the first time. She even wore her black beret, a favorite, he knew, for the occasional break and enter. When her eyes came to rest on him, he noted how her gaze dropped to his exposed throat, then down to his forearms. He thought he saw the faintest curve of satisfaction in her pale pink lips even though she said nothing about his casual attire.

She had already decided that this appearance suited Jack to a tee. She had always preferred him a bit on the tousled side but, there was no denying who he was. It was the perfect balance of his propriety just begging to be undone. On that thought she swept up and kissed him, ruffling free the curl that was threatening to fall over his forehead. Tasting the whiskey on his tongue, she admonished, "You started without me."

"Only just," Jack assured her, offering a hand to take her coat. She wore a black wool cape to stave off the steady, chilling drizzle that had started to fall and turned out of it elegantly, with her back to him.

Phryne recalled once telling Dot that it it was a side issue if the way she dressed appealed to men. When she chose her ensemble for this evening, nothing could have been more true. Earlier, when she had donned the cream silk blouse, the black ankle-length satin skirt and the finest French knickers that money could buy, it was _her pleasure_ that had been foremost in mind - imagining how Jack might slip her out of them.

As she pulled the beret from her head, tendrils of hair still tucked neatly in place behind her ears. Phryne watched as his eyes followed the long line of pearl buttons that ran from the edge of her blouse's high neckline down to her shoulder before lingering on her breasts, obviously unencumbered beneath the silk. The skirt looked like liquid ore, flowing down over her hips and pooling around the gorgeous curves of her legs. Jack was overwhelmed by the urge to touch her. To feel the slip of the fabric, warmed by her skin, in his fingers.

But when he reached for her, she dodged him, whisking over to the crystal decanter and pouring herself a healthy measure of its amber contents. She topped off his glass, too, and noticed the notepad where it had been left open on the side table.

Reading over the latest entries in Jack's appalling hand, she quirked her head at him. "Care to debrief me, Inspector?"

His face flushed at her flagrantly suggestive tone and, although he enjoyed hearing it, he supposed he might not ever get used to it. His mouth twisted into a pout. "I was hoping to learn more about the ways I might be of use to you, if you recall."

"I recall perfectly, Jack," she purred, resisting the urge to kiss that pout right off his face, and backing him up so he had no choice but to sit back in the leather chair. She drank deeply from her glass before setting it down and continuing, "But it might be much more fun to combine them." And with that, she sat herself in his lap, draping one arm across the back of his broad shoulders and swinging her legs across him so their bodies were perpendicular. She kicked off her shoes and relished that his hands were already feeling their way across her shrouded form even while a note of uncertainty still lingered in his eyes.

"Let me get this right. You want to discuss the case and... oh god."

Phryne removed her tongue from his ear just long enough to confirm his suspicions. Jack allowed the dizziness to overtake him for a moment before reining in his self-control, as much as was possible with a slithering lady detective in his arms, and attempting to summarize what he and Collins had discovered.

"Freight was going missing from all of the... uh, routes."

"Mmm-hmm," her lips vibrated against his skin as she kissed lazily down his neck. "Go on," Phryne encouraged, loving this new game, living out a fantasy she had imagined so many times.

"Not enough for a formal inquiry but..." Fingers weaved in between the buttons of his waistcoat driving him to distraction. "Enough to draw attention."

"So, it _was_ a side business," she gloated.

Jack couldn't help but seize her smirking mouth, eventually finding enough relief to go on. "Our deceased hostler, Melvin Payne...uh worked all of the routes. As did... oh. As did the engineer."

"Daly," she panted, "You wrote down his name."

"Yes. We're bringing him in... for questioning... when his train arrives tomorrow."

They were both breathing heavily now, his system overburdened by her attentions and hers inflamed by his reactions.

"And the fireman?"

"Only two. But... mmph... that might have been enough."

"You suspect blackmail?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, Miss Fisher," he admitted as his hand snaked over the satin, up her thigh to her hip, pulling her closer.

"I believe that's enough thinking about this case for one night, Inspector. Time to turn our attention to more pressing matters."

Phryne brushed her lips against Jack's, flicking out her tongue to gently trace their shape, unable to resist teasing him. When she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, he could take it no more and claimed his prize. He moved one hand to support her neck as the hand on her hip reached between them and shifted her position so she was lying across his lap, her head cradled in the crook of his elbow.

His fingers skated over the slippery fabrics, causing spine-tingling sensations in them both. Jack's free hand moved in long, slow strokes up one side of her and down the other, occasionally down the center causing her to whimper softly.

Had she not trusted Jack implicitly, Phryne would have been scared of how well he had come to know her body in such a short amount of time. He was a gifted investigator but even still, he seemed to have an intuition for finding all the places that made her shiver and squirm.

He raked his eyes over her, unable to believe how indescribably erotic she looked, fully clothed and yet completely exposed by the filmy clothing. Erect nipples strained against her blouse, their faint blush darkening the ivory material. He leaned down over her, nudging one with his mouth and she swallowed a groan. Her eyes narrowed at him as he pulled back, knowing full well he was teasing her. "Useful?" he asked, attempting to match her own saucy retorts and wishing his voice hadn't cracked.

"That depends, Inspector," she breathed, "What else can you do with that mouth?"

Feeling that it was a question better answered with actions than words, Jack sucked her breast into his mouth, blouse and all. He suckled her hardened nipple, grazing it lightly with his teeth and nipped at the sensitive surround, tracing his tongue over the silk before lavishing his attention on the other.

Her hands wound into his hair as she encouraged him with incoherent sounds. He nuzzled the underside, where the soft flesh gave way to her ribcage and followed the natural path downward to her belly - doing what felt so deliriously good. The soft material was exquisite against his skin.

He extracted his arm out from under her neck, and placed it instead, beneath the small of her back, his other coming up under her knees. Using the new leverage, he pulled her hips upward to meet him halfway as he leaned over her core, brushing his cheek along her hipbones and murmuring that she felt like heaven.

Without conscious thought, he continued on his trajectory, dropping kisses along the way, and nestled his head into the apex of her thighs, reveling in the feeling of the satin, the soft pad of flesh underneath. Her warm scent enveloped him. It was more intoxicating than her perfume and it sowed the idea in his fuzzy brain that he should taste her. When his tongue pressed against the damp fabric, it was Phryne's astonished inhalation that brought him back to himself. High and sharp, her breath betrayed her surprise. One look at her face and he was mortified. Her eyes were wide, looking at him as if she had never seen him before and her mouth gaped.

He lowered her almost instantly and reached for her hands. "Phryne! I'm sorry. Please." He didn't know what had come over him. He had never, in his life, attempted _that_ before. Had never felt the desire until that very moment. It was such an intimate act. Forbidden. And yet, he hadn't thought twice about it. Perhaps they weren't ready. Perhaps it was too intimate. His heart broke a little at the thought.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that this is the first time in this particular storyline that Jack attempts to have oral sexy times with Phryne. Because a number of my stand alone fics include it, even I was getting confused as I wrote it and had to keep referring back. So, wanted to be sure I set the record straight.
> 
> Also, Jack refers to his "second parapraxis of the day." The first occurred in the previous chapter when he called his office their (his & Phryne's) office.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack feels humiliated. Can Phryne soothe his worry? (You already know the answer.)

"Jack..." She tried to extract her hands but, Jack was hanging on for dear life.

"Forgive me," he begged in a whisper. "It won't happen again."

She softened her face and tried again. "Shh, Jack. Don't say that."

Phryne tried to comfort him but, she could see the grey clouds rolling in as surely as they had outside. She doubted he would believe her now if she tried to explain that while surprised by his actions, she couldn't have been more delighted. Phryne being Phryne, she opted to take a different approach.

"Come with me." She stood and tugged on his hands, pulling him down the hall to his bedroom.

Jack understood that she was a physical creature by nature so, the idea that she would attempt to repair the situation with sex did not entirely shock him. But it wasn't that easy. He had humiliated himself - humiliated her - with his attempt to satisfy his undignified urges. How could she think this would fix it?

Rain pounded against the window and she was comforted by the sound, grateful for its steady rhythm. The way it made her feel insulated and safe. Nestled away with her favourite person in the world.

Jack stood in the middle of the room awkwardly as she turned on the small bedside lamp. He was wrapped up in his worries when he realized that her warm hands were sliding him out of his waistcoat. Fingers flitted under his chin as she dragged the knot of his tie. A nail grazed the sensitive spot under his jaw and he gave an involuntary shudder. She tore the tie free in one long move and stripped him of his shirt, never once breaking eye contact with him. Pressing up against him, circling his waist with her arms, she kissed him. Mind-numbing, soul-shattering kisses where nothing else existed beyond the strength of her embrace, the heat of her mouth.

She was single-minded in her determination, unwilling to stop until he returned her fervor. It was then that he reminded himself not to doubt her again.

Sensing he was finally ready to move on, Phryne asked, "Will you undress me, Jack?"

He nodded his head, almost in a daze, until his eyes fell onto her blouse. He looked at it questioningly, no doubt wondering where the secret drape was to release it from her shoulders. Phryne slowly shook her head. "The buttons."

"All of them?"

"All of them. But there's a catch."

Jack didn't miss the silky tone that was back in her voice and sighed, "Naturally."

"You have to unbutton at least one of them with your mouth."

"What?" he asked incredulously.

Her lips curved into a mysterious smile. "Well, are you _useful_ or not?" She leveled the challenge and waited.

She didn't have to wait long. He moved behind her so he could better access the first button. Phryne had little doubt that his fingers could manage the work superbly and so they did. Gentle and teasing, stroking each bit of sensitive skin as it was unveiled, brushing his lips across her newly exposed throat.

Jack would probably never admit it out loud, save under duress, but he enjoyed her games. For one thing, they brought out the playful side in him that seemed to have gone dormant since the war. For another thing, there was rarely a loser. 

The first button he attempted with his mouth was where her neck met her shoulder - knowing full well he would fail. She was far too ticklish in that spot to stand still long enough for him to succeed. But he thoroughly enjoyed making her squirm and squeal, pointing out when she protested that he was merely trying to follow her rules.

He fared better the next time, a few buttons further along her shoulder, and nearly had it through the slot when she distracted him with a moan. Grasping the silk delicately in his hands, he tried again.

Jack held the pearl steady in his lips until it was positioned just at the opening, trying to ignore Phryne's ragged breathing. With his tongue pointed and firm, he guided the button down and manipulated it until it popped free. He swirled his tongue on the exposed skin and drank in her praise of his accomplishment.

Making quick work of the rest, he caught the blouse at her midriff and tugged it out of her skirt and up, over her head. Her skin prickled in the cool air and she smiled wide at the sensation and thinking of what she hoped was to come.

He stroked her sides, invoking more shivers, before pulling her into him, needing to feel her bare skin on his at last. Warm arms folded around her, sending a fever down Phryne's spine and she melted into the heat of his desperate kiss. But when his fingers slid beneath the waist of her skirt, her coy smile was back.

"Don't tell me. More buttons." His arched eyebrow was also back.

"Hooks and eyes," she corrected. "Just down the left. There aren't many but, you'll have to get down there to do it properly." She said this with the straightest face she could manage under the circumstances.

Uncertainty began to bubble in Jack's chest. He didn't trust himself and the last thing he wanted was to repeat his earlier mortification. But there was little room for interpretation when Phryne had asked him to do the job properly. Thinking it the safer option, he knelt at her left side rather than directly in front of her and began feeling for the small hooks and eyes below the seam. Locating the closures took longer then freeing them and when the last was unclasped, he couldn't help but sweep his hands up the decadent satin one more time before letting it fall at her feet.

Jack closed his eyes against the sight of her standing there in her black silk underwear that probably cost more than what he made in a week. She looked absolutely delicious and once again, the idea of pressing his mouth to her seemed to seize every cell in his body. Swallowing down hard on the notion, he took a deep breath in an attempt to reprimand himself.

But he was driven further to the brink by the fact that Phryne had pivoted on her toes and stood squarely in front of him - so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her. His gaze lifted upward and it occurred to him that he must look like he was worshiping at a goddess' feet. Which, wasn't all that far from the truth of what he felt.

She could see the longing in his eyes, mixed with hesitation. Reaching out a hand, she stroked his hair and felt him lean into her touch. Slowly, she guided him closer until she could feel his breath on her thighs. "Please, Jack."

"You want me to... to?" he asked, unbelieving.

"Oh, god, yes."

As if testing her word, Jack nuzzled in to the wet silk and as his hands found her hips. Once again, she inhaled sharply. But this time he paused where he was and breathed her in, giving her a moment to recover from the shock of his touch, and heard her softly murmur his name. Cautiously, he brought his mouth to the fabric and tasted her for the first time.

He knew right then and there that he would never have enough of her. He pressed in more firmly and her hips bucked in his hands. His blood was fire in his veins as he heard his name fall again, this time with a choice swear.

The thin barrier of silk felt suddenly like a concrete barricade between them and Jack vanquished her smalls in seconds. He stroked the dark curls, trailing deeper with his fingers, getting his bearings and listening to the hitching of her breath.

Her hand hand moved to his cheek and he turned his head to kiss her palm. Then, bracing her once more, he drove his tongue into her in one swift stroke and they both cried out. "Christ, Phryne," came his muffled voice before he set about exploring her, sucking the swollen flesh into his mouth, tracing her opening with his tongue and following his own curiosity and the sounds of pleasure she made. As he found a rhythm, arcing his tongue into the folds of her flesh then suctioning his lips around her, her legs began to shake.

Thinking Phryne's knees might actually give way, he moved his hands up her back to support her but it wasn't enough. Her voice was shaky when she finally uttered the word, "Bed."

Jack got to his feet and scooped her up without a word, placing her in the middle of his bed. Though her eyes were closed as if in contemplation, Phryne was neither still nor quiet. Her hips writhed and snapped, desperate for him to continue, and small sounds of need punctuated every breath.

When she finally opened her eyes to look at him, she saw him marveling at the new perspective - a new world that was suddenly open to him. Reaching out for his hands, she guided them, slowly parting her flesh. Although she knew Jack was widely read, she didn't want to presume he knew everything about a woman's physicality. She placed her finger to the spot she most wanted his attention. His thumb slowly came up and ran alongside it, gently nudging it out of the way. He brushed against the small bundle of nerves. Her reaction was instantaneous. He stroked it again, firmer this time, circling around it and felt the headiness that comes with being the sole reason for someone else's pleasure. He lowered his head, eager to discover how her response would change with a change of instrument.

He wasn't certain of the best approach so, he settled for a kiss, closing his warm lips around the bud and gently stroking it with his tongue. Soft whimpers issued from her throat as she encouraged him and she removed her hands from his to fist them in the sheets. He wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her centre closer to him so he could kneel at the bedside with her legs falling open around him, a heel at his shoulder.

It was obvious how very sensitive she was here. Her body was squirming with every stroke. So he continued gently and with care, ignoring the urge he felt to drive her relentlessly over the edge.

She knew Jack was being cautious for her sake. He would never want to hurt her - that was the reason for his tenderness. But she needed more. "Jack?"

He looked up at her and saw the flush that had begun to spread, scarlet against her pale chest, found her eyes, dark and full of longing.

"Remember the buttons?" she suggested.

Clarity broke over him like a wave and he actually laughed. The blouse, the buttons, training his mouth in technique and pressure for this very act. "You planned this?" he huffed, even though his relief that his earlier worries were unfounded was palpable.

"I h-had hoped you might be persuaded. I never expected you to..." But she didn't get to tell Jack what she had never expected because at that very moment, he thrust his tongue against her, rendering her completely senseless.

Otherwise helpless against the sudden onslaught of his mouth, she gave free rein to her voice as he pulled her ever closer, stroking her belly with the fingers of the hand splayed across her hip while the others hovered at her opening. A moan of such desperation reached his ears, he thought he might completely lose control - not that he would have stopped if he had. He increased the tempo, manipulating her in a maddening rhythm and he felt her shuddering hips lift to meet him, increasing the pressure.

She was so close, she just needed one thing to pull her over the edge. Reaching down, her hand brushed his cheek - feeling the motion of his jaw as he worked her over - before she tugged on his fingers and pleaded, "Now, Jack." Realizing what she wanted, he plunged his fingers into her and then over and over again, never removing his lips from her.

Sensing the moment was upon her, Jack directed his gaze up along the expanse of her body. Her breasts lifted as she rose up onto her shoulder blades, her defiant chin jutted upward to the ceiling, her neck strained and her eyes squeezed shut. Every muscle in her body seemed to coil into itself before releasing in a series of convulsions that pulsed against his fingers and throbbed under his tongue. She was gone from the world, immersed in place that consisted only of Jack and his relentless embrace. The heat of her blood drowning out the sound of the driving rain and even her own cries of ecstasy.

Phryne came to and realized that Jack was still kneeling at the bedside, watching her with suspiciously wet eyes. With an outstretched hand, she beckoned him to join her. They laid, side by side, in silence for a few moments before he searched out her hand and brought it to his lips with a sigh.

He loved her desperately, even if she wasn't ready to hear it.

"What's the matter, Jack? Afraid I'll get you evicted for breaking the noise ordinance?" She teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Nah. Mrs. Bainbridge is deaf," he said matter of factly, indicating his upstairs neighbor. "Though, they might have heard you in Richmond."

Relieved by his willingness to verbally spar with her, she rolled to face him, "We shall both be better prepared next time. So, I'm sure we could aim further. Say, Northcote?"

Her cheeky grin was infectious and Phryne found him completely irresistible when his eyes crinkled like that. She swooped in and kissed him soundly, suddenly remembering that Jack had not yet had his release. "How far do you think you can go, Jack?" She asked in her favorite lilt of mock-innocence.

Judging only by the tone, she might have been asking about the weather instead of how loudly she could make him scream. "You are a bit more reserved. Though, I've certainly learned my lesson when it comes to underestimating your considerable passions." She said all of this as she stripped him of his remaining clothing while he smirked at her.

"A little self-control never hurt anyone, Miss Fisher."

Phryne couldn't help but agree. "You're quite right, Inspector. In fact, I'm looking forward to discovering all the ways I can make yours crumble."

He groaned as she pinched his nipple taut and latched her lips to his throat, wondering if he set that challenge accidentally on purpose.

She pushed him down onto the bed before pulling away briefly, in a fit of inspiration, to retrieve something from the floor. Settling between his feet, she reached forward and placed the roll of smooth, black satin just past his head. His breath was already hitching in anticipation. Holding tight to the edge, she pulled it back towards her so the fabric covered and caressed his skin.

Tortuously slowly, she let it slip over Jack's face, then his chest and stomach, listening as he tried to muffle his own sounds of pleasure. When it reached his erection, he moaned loudly at the unexpected deliciousness of it and Phryne smiled wickedly. She repeated the process and he reached out - palms up, as if to catch it - but she realized that he was just savoring the sensation. He really was quite sensual, her Inspector. Phryne considered the thought with deep satisfaction.

Fanning the long, satin skirt over him, she let it fall so it just kissed his skin before she buoyed it up again to descend, covering most of his lower half. She dragged her fingertips up his legs, skating over the slinky material and using her nails to elicit shivers and gasps from him. Marveling at the feeling of the hard muscles beneath the drape, her hands roved over him, administering her exquisite form of torture.

She took care to pay attention to the hollows of his pelvic bones, the tender flesh of his inner thighs, which, when caressed, drew a desperate sound from him. The sound sent a stab of desire through her, forcing her to employ her own restraint as the heat surged between her legs. She was determined to give him his time. Her clever hands cupped him and teased his arousal through the satin, drawing the slippery fabric around him and stroking him with it. She performed a particularly spectacular maneuver with her thumb, and was vindicated by his sharp cry - for which surely he should receive credit for hearing in Hawthorn.

"Phryne," he began, his voice sounding strained, "I'm not sure how much longer..."

She brushed her moistened thumb over his lips and kissed the taste from him. It was too much. He was hers completely - this woman who, with her agile mind and touch, was able to extract feelings inside him that he didn't even know existed.

He tore the fabric from his body and sat up, using his new leverage to pull her to him. He caught her surprised gasp with his mouth as he kissed her deeply, hands trailing up her shoulder blades. "Please," he begged, wrenching his lips and tongue from hers.

She nodded, as her insides turned molten, and knelt over his hips. Phryne cupped his beautiful face with her hands and they gazed at one another for what seemed like an eternity, communicating all the things they were too cowardly to say with words.

The rain had quieted to a soft pitter-pat as she lowered herself down on him, ever so slowly, and saw his eyelids flutter. "Look at me, Jack," she commanded softly, wanting to see it happen - the moment he was overcome with her.

His large, downturned eyes opened to face her and, watching intently, she saw the glaze of bliss cast over him as he was finally fully immersed - at one with her once more. He filled her so completely it seemed her heart was fit to burst. She was all his - not a stitch of finery to hide behind, no jewels dangling from her earlobes to distract, not even a swipe of lipstick. Completely bare. Only for him. She bent her head down, her hair falling in dark curtains astride their faces, and kissed him tenderly. When she released his lips, her expression glowed with the happiness of a woman deeply in love.

Jack reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You look beautiful."

Her cheeks coloured at this unexpected compliment from her policeman. "You've never said that before."

The corner of his mouth drew down wryly on one side as he cocked his head to the side. "There are a lot of things I haven't said before," he admitted and traced the contours of her face with his fingers before continuing in a smoldering voice, "But, I'm working up to it." And with that, he captured her mouth and set about ensuring that they were both too spent to utter another word.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging with me through this story. I promise, I know where it's headed now! As always, constructive criticism is welcome.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP of last chapters: When we last left off, Daisy Travers, the young prostitute, gave the Inspector a very compelling clue to the murder of the Melvin Payne and was followed on the way home. Jack suspects blackmail was involved in the murders of the two rail employees, along with the stolen freight. Phryne made good on her promise to let Jack show her just how useful he can be and their bond was forged by some very intimate time together.
> 
> We pick up where we left off: Things aren't looking too good for Daisy. Phryne goes out of her way to surprise Jack and she gets a surprise of her own when her gun goes missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains the abduction of and violence towards a female character.

The young woman awoke in darkness, unable to see or speak. She seemed to be sitting up, her arms bound behind her with a heavy rope that tore at her skin if she tried to move even the slightest. Her feet were also tied, she guessed, to the legs of the chair she sat in. Panic was seeping into every cell in her body as she tried to orient herself.

The last thing Daisy Travers remembered was being dragged out of her room, a man's hand clamped over her mouth and the splintering sound when she kicked over the stacked orange crates she used as a dressing table. Feeling suffocated, she tried to force the material out of her mouth with her tongue but only succeeded in making herself retch.

"Finally awake, are ya?"

The wooden chair stuttered as he kicked it hard with his boot, only half-regarding her muffled cry. He did not get any pleasure out of tormenting the girl but he needed her be afraid. Afraid enough to tell him everything and then, maybe - maybe - he wouldn't have to kill her, too.

"First, you're gonna listen. And listen good. Then, you're gonna talk. Understand?"

He waited only a few seconds for a response. When he didn't get one, he pulled a small metal instrument out of his pocket. _Typical street rat,_ he thought. _Defiant._ He knew the type well, being one of them himself. Ripping through her stocking, he pushed the hot metal into the flesh on her calf and Daisy gave a lurch and screamed through her gag.

"I said, _understand_? Or you'll be beggin' me to kill ya."

Daisy nodded her head furiously, retching again with the air trying to force its way out of her lungs through her blocked mouth.

"Seems you're gettin' awfully cozy with the coppers, girly," he sneered, the contents of Daisy's handbag scattered over a small, battered table. He fished out the two white cards that he had read over and over while his captive was unconscious. "Detective Inspector J. Robinson and Miss Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective. Reckon ya got friends in high places now? A slag like you?"

He watched her carefully as her head violently shook from side to side. "Don't matter no how. They ain't here to protect ya. It's just you an' me." To make his point, he burned her leg again with the lighter, rendering a livid mark just inches from the other had begun to blister.

She screamed again and began to shake, sobbing under her makeshift hood. "It'll go on like this, girl, until you're not fit to be seen by the likes of human eyes. Unless ya tell me what I want to know. Then, ya might just make it out of 'ere alive. Understand?"

This time, the last word was only halfway out of his mouth before her head began to bob up and down. _Good._ Things might go easier than he had hoped.

Frozen with fear, Daisy held onto the word, _alive_. She had to think fast. This man wanted something from her. Girls in her line of work often disappeared. It was why she preferred the likes of a place such as 110-1/2 Canning Street over a dark corner, on her own. There was a kind of safety in numbers. Some of the girls had gotten mixed up with the gangs, even running black market goods for extra cash but, Daisy had never taken sides for fear of knowing too much. It was with stunning clarity that she realized this inquiry had nothing to do with sly grog or the local drug trade. He wanted information about Melvin Payne!

But, she couldn't tell him about the key - he would kill her for certain if he thought she had given evidence to the police. She thought of Inspector Robinson, of his eyes, wide with concern. She thought of Miss Fisher - a lady if ever there was one, and a clever one at that - dressing up as a common prostitute to help find a murderer. The images gave her the strength she needed as she felt fingers under the hood, roughly pulling the gag away from her mouth. Perhaps she could be clever, too.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

To a lesser man than Jack Robinson, waking to the smell of burnt toast would be an inauspicious way to start the day. But, the acrid stench held more than one pleasurable meaning, compelling the Inspector's lips to twitch. For one thing, it meant that he wasn't waking alone in his flat. For another, it meant that the Honourable Phryne Fisher was engaging in an activity that was as endearing as it was shocking.

He huffed a laugh to himself as he heard her muttered curses and the all too familiar scraping of a knife over the char, with no doubt in his mind that even the likes of burned bread would be forced into submission.

Stretching himself firmly awake, he heard her set the tray down and opened his eyes to the grey morning light. She was in her bare feet and had obviously pulled on his own blue flannel dressing gown before setting off on her mission. The long sleeves were cuffed several times over at the wrist and the belt cinched tight to mould the excess fabric to her small frame. Propping up on his elbows to better look at her, Jack found himself completely enchanted.

Some women needed finery. No one would argue with the inherently persuasive nature of a well-cut garment, French rouge or strategically placed bauble. But he didn't think he had ever seen anything as alluring as the sight of Phryne standing there, bare-faced, dressed only in his old, worn robe.

She had caught him stretching luxuriously along the bed, his sinewy arms pulled taut, the bulging of his ridiculously muscular thighs obvious - even under the blanket. She felt a surge of desire run through her like an electric current. As he sat up, a lock of hair fell forward onto his forehead and she felt her stomach flutter. Rousing that handsome should be an arrestable offense. But her lust was quickly overtaken with a less familiar feeling. Jack was gazing at her with a misty expression, his mouth slightly agape.

Phyrne felt her throat go dry. The idea that she might never tire of seeing Jack look at her that way thrilled and frightened her in equal measure. She redirected her attention to the teapot in front of her and poured them both a steaming cup.

"You're up early," Jack finally managed. His voice sounded hoarse, not entirely from lack of use.

"Time and tide and toast wait for no man, Jack. Or woman, for that matter," she pronounced dramatically, shaking off the discomfort of her feelings, as she waved a freshly jam-laden slice in front of him with a flourish. "I may have taken some liberty with that last bit." She watched with amusement as his eyes wandered from the knot in his robe up to her face and finally fell on the bread.

"It seems you've been taking liberties of all sorts, Miss Fisher," he replied with a lopsided grin.

Phryne's lips twisted into a smile. It had taken every ounce of her will power to leave his warm side, in hopes of surprising him with this small luxury. By the looks of it, he was pleased and more than a little shocked. "I wouldn't want to send you off to work without the proper nourishment, Inspector."

He matched her sauciness with a tilt of his head and an arched eyebrow, sitting up to take a greedy bite directly from her hand before snatching the toast from her altogether, along with a proffered tea cup.

He ate with his usual gusto, savoring each bite - which was unusual in and of itself, due to the fact that it was merely jam and bread. Burned bread, at that. Phryne stood and surveyed him with curiosity as she chewed on her own slice, waiting for the inevitable cracks about her hidden domestic talents or lack thereof. But, none came. She had momentarily forgotten that Jack was not so predictable. His obvious delight at such a small consideration would have been enough to convince her - if she hadn't already firmly decided - to indulge Jack Robinson with every whim of pleasure and fancy she could imagine.

He had, of course, considered teasing her and summarily dismissed it as the obvious choice. But, that wasn't the only reason. No. As silly as he felt admitting it to himself, her gesture meant too much to him to brush off with a witty remark. Never in his life had he felt so close to another person. Jack couldn't help but think of the previous night, how Phryne had soothed his obvious embarrassment, how she had shown him that they wanted the same things, how utterly intimate it felt to make love to her that way. It was uncanny - the way she could slice through his insecurities and turn them into gifts with her words and wit; the way she could crack open his guarded heart and turn it into plasm with only a piece of toast and a smile.

When her offering had been consumed in its entirety, Jack finally spoke again, his voice somehow sheepish and smoldering at the same time. "Thank you. You know, I've never had breakfast in bed before." 

If it sounded like a confession, he supposed it was. Even in their early years together, before the walls went up, Rosie had been too proper for such larks. Or perhaps the thought of having to launder the sheets and remake the bed herself outweighed any sense of fun.

"Jack," she laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she hitched up the robe and crawled onto his lap, not missing how his hands sprang immediately to her hips to steady her. "I'm sure I don't know what you've never done. But, if last night was any indication..." She leaned down to lick the taste of sugared apricot from his lips, drawing a moan from him as she pulled away to continue, "...You're full of surprises." She tilted her hips into his and smiled wickedly at the hiss of breath that escaped him and the feeling of his fingers digging in to her flesh to keep her pressed there.

"Perhaps we should make a list?" she purred, reveling in the stuttered swear and deep red flush that crept up his neck at the implications of her suggestion. Oh yes. This would be a favorite game for a while. "Tell me, Inspector. Have you ever shared your bathtub with a lady detective? I imagine the resulting interrogation could get rather personal."

Jack felt Phryne peel away from him as the stars danced in front of his eyes. He recovered just in time to see the blue fabric drop into a glorious heap on the floor and watch her sashay down the hall without a second glance back. Only a fool would not follow - and Jack Robinson was no fool.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Collins tapped cautiously on the glass. The noise emanating from his DI's office was most worrisome. For a moment, he thought he had actually heard whistling. When his boss bade him enter, the young man cleared his throat and opened the door. "Inspector Mulligan on the phone for you, Sir." He indicated the main line with a tilt of his head.

Inspector Robinson nodded swiftly and rose. He had been expecting the call any day now. Walter Mulligan was the Detective Inspector assigned to Vice and it had been on his desk that Jack's report about the back alley brothel had landed.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson."

"How the hell are you, Jack?"

"Can't complain, Walt. You?"

"Nah. Same old shit! Gamblin', sly grog, goddamn babies out on the street sellin' themselves. It's enough to drive me to drink - if I were prone to that sort of thing."

Jack laughed darkly. He'd known Walt since before the war and he remembered the man as being a tough old bird even then. His choices of colourful language aside, Jack found he had more in common with Walt than most. Both choosing to walk the straight and narrow path rather than line their pockets with payoffs. Somehow, they managed to survive the police strike and their paths crossed often enough as Murder and Vice were wont to do.

"But enough poeticizing. I just rang to give you a nod. That was one helluva report you wrote, Robinson. I don't know how you managed to get in there. We've had seasoned undercover officers outed by that lot."

"Ah," Jack stuttered and cleared his throat. "I had a bit of assistance."

"That lady detective again is it? The Honourable Miss Something or Other? The same one you took down the Mayor with - and Sanderson, the filthy bastard?"

"The very same," Jack replied fondly, something that felt a lot like pride swelling in his chest.

The man grunted his approval. There was nothing Walt Mulligan hated more than a crooked cop.

Jack thought of the letter he had received from Mulligan after George's arrest. It had been his words, more than any other, that enabled Jack to face the backlash of the Fletcher/Sanderson trials and subsequent convictions that had ricocheted across the constabulary, resulting in a number of resignations, dismissals and even arrests. Though, his promise of a beer when the dust settled had yet to be fulfilled.

"Well, we're planning a raid on the Canning Street operation tonight. So, wish me luck, kid. And, I still owe you that beer!" With that, Mulligan rang off and set about organizing his troops.

Jack hung up the receiver, the hint of a smile still on his face. "Collins!" he shouted.

Hugh, who had only been standing a few feet away - listening with curiosity to his DI's side of the conversation - jumped out of his skin. "Y-yes, Sir?"

"Sorry Collins," he apologized, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Have you checked with the rail line regarding the status of Mr. Daly's arrival?" Jack felt certain the engineer not only knew more about the deaths of his colleagues than he had let on, but was complicit in the theft of freight for resale in Melbourne's thriving black market.

"Yes. It's still scheduled for two-thirty, Sir."

Jack checked his watch. It was a little past one. "Good. I'll meet you out front in fifteen minutes." He strode back to his office, pulling the door shut tight. He wasn't even sure why he was doing this but, he couldn't shake off the feeling that the girl needed his protection.

"Miss Fisher? Detective Inspector Jack Robinson calling."

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Miss Fisher wriggled into her navy blue trousers and selected a blouse of navy, cream and green. The ensemble was still elegant, but less formal, and far better suited to a surprise visit to Carlton than her previous one. The midday sun streaked through the windows and refracted off the the perfume bottles that adorned the top of her dressing table, sending golden shards of light skittering across the surface.

She fished for a small brass key and unlocked the middle drawer. From it was extracted a sharp, slender knife and a specially made garter, which were both strapped to her calf. A crease appeared between her eyebrows as her eyes swept the now empty cache. "Dot?"

Having run up from the kitchen, Dot hoped this wouldn't take long - she had biscuits in the oven for the upcoming church fete and it wouldn't do to ruin a second batch in one day. But, one look at the chaos in Miss Fisher's room set her immediately to picking up the discarded garments before they could crease.

"Yes, Miss?" she replied, slightly out of breath

"Have you seen my pistol?"

Dottie nodded. "I was tidying up last night and noticed that you, um, left it behind."

She knew her Miss would have never had left the weapon behind if she really was going _out_ as she had claimed. Dot also supposed Inspector Robinson was well armed enough for both of them.

"I asked Mr. Butler to service it for you."

"How very thoughtful of you, Dot!" Miss Fisher exclaimed, wrapping her arm around her companion's shoulders and squeezing her.

"Oh!" Dot breathed happily at the compliment. "The train murders again, Miss?"

"I'm afraid so."

"That was the Inspector on the phone," Dot noted shrewdly - having not missed the way her employer's voice had dropped into a near whisper after having picked up the telephone receiver (and if that were not enough to convince her, the words _dripping_ and _bubbles_ had left little doubt in her mind, a furious blush on her face and a tray of burnt biscuits in the oven).

"Yes, how did you-" Phryne began, releasing the young woman to look at her curiously. There was a twinkle in Dot's eye that made Phryne look twice. Was it possible...? No.

"You're going out on police business, then?" Dot redirected.

" _Unofficially._ Vice is trawling and there's a witness we hope to keep out of their net," Phryne explained as she draped a coordinating scarf around her neck.

Dot understood at once that she should not speak of this to her Constable. "Yes, Miss," she confirmed. "Inspector Robinson's secret is safe with me. I'll just go and fetch your gun."  
She turned to leave but Miss Fisher's voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Dot! Hold it right there." Phryne had spent a lifetime honing her instincts and was not about to ignore them now. Observing Dot carefully, she noticed how her eyes darted about the room, how her fingertips had flown to her touch her crucifix at the mention of a secret. Phryne's mind raced and quickly put the evidence together: questions about her whereabouts gone unasked, the sudden offer of the house to herself, a secret involving Inspector Robinson.

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly.

Dot looked sheepish. "I only suspected at first. Not long after you returned from your trip."

"It's alright. It was silly to try to conceal it from you, Dot," Phryne admitted. "You're far too clever." She sat on her bed, patting the spot next to her to indicate that Dot should join her and tried to explain her reasons.

"There's no precedent for what Jack and I are - we're not even sure ourselves. Everyone will have their opinions. Aunt Prudence, Jack's colleagues, the papers..." She trailed off and huffed in frustration before locking the young woman's gaze with her own. "It's not that I didn't trust you, Dot."

Dot was stunned to see tears shining in Miss Fisher's eyes. "I understand."

And, Dottie was surprised to find that she did. Dot loved Hugh with all her heart and yet, their courtship was not without its own difficulties - what with the difference in their religions, Hugh's mother, and her own new outlook as a "modern woman," as Hugh had called her. She considered how much more complicated it would be for her Miss and the Inspector: they were two people of different social classes, one of whom was divorced, one of whom bucked society's notions just for the thrill of it - both of whom regularly appeared in the local press.

After a few long moments in silence, Phryne couldn't stand not knowing any longer. "What tipped you off?"

"Your luggage, Miss. I remembered you packing only two cases but, the records showed three under your name."

The guffaw that erupted from Miss Fisher's throat, followed by a shower of praise, broke the tension and Dot relaxed, feeling it was safe to share the rest. "But that night you went undercover? Well... it's just that I couldn't sleep and..."

"Yes?"

"I sort of... saw you kissing in the Inspector's car."

Dot blushed again at the memory and the two women erupted into a fit of giggles that would have put Jane and her friends to shame. Phryne felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It was that moment she realized that the best way to strengthen her and Jack's new partnership was to share it with the people they loved. Well perhaps not Aunt P. straight away, but definitely Mac and Bert and Cec and...

"And, Mr. Butler?" Phryne asked, already knowing the answer.

"I believe he suspects," Dot confirmed. The young woman chose her next words very carefully.

Every member of the Fisher household had practically sworn a blood oath to Mr. Butler agreeing to never reveal their attempts to prod the Inspector into action. But, Dot felt it was important to reassure Miss Fisher that they were on her side.

"We all think very highly of the Inspector, Miss."

Phryne smiled warmly at her, taking her hand. "Thank you, Dot."

Dot returned the smile, feeling suddenly emboldened. "I hope you don't mind me asking... Are you... happy?"

"Do you know? I believe I am."

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces begin to fall in to place.

Parking the Hispano outside the boarding house, Phryne considered how she was going to tell Jack that their secret was out. Even though she had no doubt that her companion would be discrete, Phryne thought it was rather like ripping off a plaster. Better to do it quick.

The front door of the clapboard building was practically rusting off its hinges and swung open with a spine-numbing screech. She had barely set a well-heeled foot into the place when her head fogged with the cloying smell of cheap perfume. Phryne winced as she made her way through the alcoholic vapors, which seemed to be growing stronger by the step.

Just inside one of the small rooms, she spotted an older woman in clothing greyed with wear, a rag tied over her nose and mouth, mopping the floor. The room was in disarray, a fine coating of dust covered nearly every flat surface and small bits of wood littered the floor. Phryne noticed an upturned orange crate near the corner, supposing it was what passed for furniture when it couldn't be used for kindling.

To her eye, it was clear there had been some kind of skirmish. When she spotted the familiar strawberry-blond wig under the floor, she felt her stomach plummet. She had given that hair piece to Daisy Travers. Horrified, Phryne summoned a commanding tone and demanded the woman stop cleaning. It didn't take much convincing - she was roughly handed the mop without a word and left to survey the stinking room.

Tiny splinters of glass formed a kind of halo around where the perfume bottle had hit the floor, unleashing its contents. Miss Fisher's eyes flicked back to the toppled orange crate. On the wall in the same corner hung a small oval mirror, pinned to the wall by a green ribbon. The placement of the crates indicated they had been used as a vanity of sorts. When they were upended, so were their contents.

She tried to walk carefully to the corner but, in avoiding a particularly large chunk of glass, her shoe collided with something metal that gave a hollow ring. It was a tin of dusting powder. With the sheer volume of particulate matter that coated the room, the tin must have been fairly new. Phryne froze in her tracks.

Combing the floor with her eyes, she spotted it. A large deposit of powder was partially obscured by one of the orange crates. Carefully, she removed it and gasped at the sight. A distinct pattern had been left in the white dust. A pattern Miss Fisher recognized, having seen a picture of it in Jack's office. One of horizontal X's and diamonds - the same as the boot print that had been recovered in the abandoned trunk at the train station.

The boot print of their murderer. And now, he had Daisy.

 

 

XXXXXX

 

 

Daly had come quietly enough. He was a timid sort of man who now sat in the Interview Room at City South, unnerved by the stony silence that radiated in waves off the Detective Inspector.

Jack perused the case notes thoughtfully, completely aware that every second that passed brought him closer to a full confession. He allowed the minutes to tick by, watching the suspect fidget in his peripheral vision. Lifting his eyes to meet his Constable's, he indicated with a tick of his eyebrow that he was ready to begin. Collins dipped into his pocket for a notebook and pencil and stood at attention.

"Mr. Daly, it seems you're a very busy man," the Inspector said tartly, spreading paper schedules over the wooden table. More than half of them were marked with a large black tick. "These are the freight manifests for every route you've worked in the past six months," he informed the railway engineer.

Inspector Robinson leaned over the table, his voice suddenly like steel, "We know you've been helping yourself to the cargo."

"I racked up some gambling debts," the man admitted.

"And you thought a black market enterprise might help line your pockets," the Inspector finished.

Daly nodded, resigning to his fate.

"You must have had someone else on the inside. Who was it? Timothy Donovan?"

"No. Tim didn't want anything to do with it. There was a porter. Squirrely bloke, name of Russell Gibbons. He works down at the train yards."

The DI nodded, remembering the man. "I've had the pleasure."

"Yeah, well. I didn't think much of him at first. But, he's clever. He scouted the goods. You know, for easy targets. Tools, grog, shoes. Anything easily moved and in demand. Where a few cases might not be missed or else not worth the hassle to report... That was his idea."

"What, exactly?" the Inspector pressed.

"Not taking too much. He said he'd worked in shipping. Said if obvious that goods were stolen, the entire shipment would be taken into custody until it's resolved. But, they overlooked a few cases here or there."

"So things were going along fine. And then Melvin Payne found out about your scheme didn't he? He was blackmailing you."

"Two pounds a week to keep quiet plus another five for every shipment we cut short."

"Hmm," the Inspector huffed, allowing an uncomfortable silence to permeate the air again.

"Is that why you killed him?" With the tone of nonchalance the Inspector used, he could have been asking after the day's horse racing results - were it not for the suddenly terrified expression on his suspect's face.

"K-killed? What do y-you mean, killed?"

"First Timothy Donovan, then Melvin Payne. Gibbons must have suspected you. He thought he was next - that's why he went into hiding."

The colour was draining out of of the engineer's face. "N-no! I never killed anybody!" He looked pleadingly between the detective and the constable. "Tim was like a brother to me! I'd never hurt him! And, Payne. Well, he was a greedy son of a bitch... but, he kept his mouth shut." Daly raked a shaking hand across his pate. "Why would I kill him? We had a good thing going."

The sudden shift in his suspect's behavior was too drastic for the DI to ignore. Perhaps he wasn't the murderer after all. "Was Payne extorting money from Gibbons, too?"

"Yeah. And T-Tim."

"What reason would he have for blackmailing the fireman? You said he had nothing to do with the thefts."

"Said he was guilty for knowing and not turning us in. S-said he'd lose his job. I told you before, Tim was already having a hard time of it. Then I saw Mel handling him... rough - had him by the throat, threatening him. Tim didn't have the money to pay and he didn't want any trouble. So, I took care of him out of my own share. An extra pound a week."

"That still doesn't explain why two men who knew about your operation have turned up murdered."

"Please!" the Daly begged in desperation. "I swear! I had nothing to do with it."

The door to the Interview Room suddenly burst open. "Inspector!"

Collins was the first to reach her and attempted to block her entry. "Miss!" he hissed, "We're in the middle of an interrogation."

"I'm sorry, Inspector." she called, looking over the constable's shoulder. "But, I need to speak to you at once!"

"It's alright, Collins," he said, getting to his feet.

But, by then, Miss Fisher's attention had turned to their suspect. She recognized him from the Bairnsdale train. Her eyes swept from the wisps of thinning blonde hair down his uniform to the polished black boots he wore. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, splaying a foot out in front of him.

Miss Fisher sucked in her breath. "Jack!"

Jack followed her gaze from her hardened face to the sole of Daly's boot, which was clearly visible in his new position. The tread bore the same X and diamond pattern as the fireman's murderer.

"Mr. Daly, you're under arrest for the murders of Timothy Donovan and Melvin Payne."

"That's not all, Inspector," Phryne spat. He looked up at her questioningly, slightly afraid of the icy glare with which she pinned Daly. "Daisy Travers is missing and her captor was wearing the same boots as Mr. Daly, here."

The small man was in a full blown panic now. He was in tears, pleading his innocence, "I dunno what you're t-talking about! N-never met no one named Travers! Please! I d-didn't kill anyone!" he sobbed. "I swear on my life."

Phryne, who had been all too familiar with the remorse that often follows violence, was not inclined to listen and continued to chill the room with her gaze. "Then how do you explain such a distinct footprint at two crime scenes.."

"I-" Daly tried to interrupt.

"Crime scenes which just _happen_ to be connected," Phryne bellowed over him, "To your illegal dealings?"

"F-footprint?" Daly repeated, as though he had just heard the word for the first time. "Y-you mean these?" he asked, a quivering finger pointing to his boots.

"No! She means your John Thomas!"

The words rang out and three sets of eyes flew up in surprise to meet Hugh Collins, his own expression still bearing the shock of his own frustrated response. Phryne would have laughed, if not for the deadly seriousness of the situation.

"Well, it's j-just... We all had them," Daly said slowly, the off-colour remark somehow bringing him back to his senses.

"What do you mean you _all_ had them?" the Inspector demanded, his eyes searching the engineer's.

Daly picked up one of the manifests from the table and offered it to the Constable with a shaking hand. It did not bear the tick mark that indicated it had been a looted shipment.

"This is for a shipment of boots. Firestone rubber. Imported from America. That's why we couldn't identify them locally, Sir."

Daly nodded. "We would have gotten a pretty penny for them. B-but, Gibbons said it was too r-risky - an unusual item like that. So, we just took some for ourselves. Me and Gibbons. I even gave a pair to Payne cause I was short that week." He looked at the woman, who shared a grave expression with the police inspector.

"Miss Fisher, approximately what time did you arrive at Ms. Travers' residence?"

"Half past three."

Phryne could see the wheels turning in Jack's head. They had seen Daisy with their own eyes nearly twenty-four hours ago. But according to Jack's information, Daly had been on board a train for longer than that. And Melvin Payne was dead. So, who did that leave?

"Constable!"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Call the rail line. I want every possible confirmation of Mr. Daly's presence aboard that train. And I mean everything. Witnesses, equipment reports. All of it."

"Yes Sir!"

The policeman pulled the wooden chair out for the woman and waited for her to sit, before taking up a stance next to her, leaning against the table's edge. Daly hardly dared to breath - much less move, though his face itched with the tears he had shed in terror. He had not killed anyone and the detective and his assistant finally seemed to believe him.

Suddenly he realized why. "It was _him_ wasn't it? Gibbons!"

"How well did you know Mr. Gibbons?" the Inspector asked. "Was he a friend?"

"No, kept to himself mostly," the man said. "He had an idea of what I was getting up to in the beginning and we sort of became partners. He was good to have around. Like I said, clever. Careful."

"And how did he take to being blackmailed by Mr. Payne?"

"Not well. But, I can't say I enjoyed it much either. We tried to shake him off but, he even took to picking up extra shifts just to keep an eye on us. Didn't want to miss any big payouts, I guess."

"And what about your friend, the fireman?" the lady asked. "What was his connection to Gibbons?"

Daly shrugged. "I didn't think there was one."

"But?" Jack led, not missing the hesitancy in the man's answer.

"But... I ran into Payne out at the pub one night and he told me there was something nasty between them and he was going to find out what it was."

Phryne felt Jack's knuckles clenching on the chair behind her shoulder.

"I didn't pay it any mind, Daly continued. "He was drunk off his arse and I thought he was just trying to provoke me into a fight."

"What did he say?"

"Said that Tim was scared of Gibbons."

"Those were his exact words?" the lady asked, her eyes suddenly wide.

"Well, only I ever called him, 'Tim.' To everyone else he was Donovan or Donnie."

"Donnie," Phryne repeated as Jack reached into his chest pocket for his small notepad.

"Donnie and the ape," Jack read from his own notes. It was what Daisy Travers had thought nonsense when Melvin Payne had drunkenly uttered the words. "And a windfall."

"Ape," Phryne mouthed silently, her eyes staring, seemingly, into nothingness.

The engineer looked between them, unable to make out the meaning of their conversation.

"Jack!" Phryne gasped, rising to pull Jack over to the door. "A gibbon is kind of ape," she whispered.

He blinked at her, gobsmacked by her revelation. "Anthropology now, Miss Fisher?" he finally said.

"Jane had a report due last term," she answered innocently with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Mr. Daly, I'm afraid we'll have to hold you under suspicion. Though I believe you'll be safer in here than out there," the Inspector told him, indicating the window with his eyes. He inched open the interview room door and called for Constable Mathis.

Leaving Mathis to take Daly down to the cells, Jack swept Miss Fisher into his office. They paced circles around each other, trying to make sense of what they just learned.

"Blackmail and stolen goods is one thing," he griped. "Murder is another."

"It's a slippery slope, Jack."

"But worthy of a hanging offense? It doesn't fit."

"Hmm. We know Donovan was tortured. Whether it was Payne or Gibbons, I don't know. But whoever it was didn't want money. He wanted information. Where's your case file?"

Together, they hunched over his desk as Phryne flipped through the manila folder that seemed to have grown ten fold since the time she had first seen him putting it together. She located the coroner's pictures of Donovan's cadaver, the body covered in round burn marks. Heading further back, she finally located the information she was looking for and placed a finger next to the note written in Jack's hand.

"Donovan was the sole witness to a murder of a bank guard," she read.

"And the suspect was never found. What if the suspect came back?" Jack asked.

"Gibbons!" they both exclaimed at the same time, each turning to face the other.

Their eyes locked in that oh-so-familiar way and Jack couldn't help but feel his heart lurch, even under the dire circumstances. This is what he loved. Her spirit, her fierce intellect, they way they challenged each other to raise the bar. Jack could never again attempt to deny his feelings for Phryne but, part of him had still feared that their romantic entanglement would change the way they worked together. If anything, he now realized, their dance was even more synchronous, each more finely attuned to the other's steps. _It was possible._ They could be partners and be together. He released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and set his focus back on the case.

The rest of the pieces quickly fell into place and Phryne described the scene she had found at the boarding house. "There were definite signs of a struggle, Jack. Gibbons thinks Daisy knows something. We have to find her!"

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detectives race to find Daisy before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize how long it's been since our intrepid detectives were left hanging with the knowledge that their killer was on the loose and had taken Miss Daisy Travers hostage. Trust me when I say that it was not my intent. A combination of all things real life has kept me from the story. As a reader and lover of MFMM fan fiction, I understand how frustrating it can be to wait for new chapters.
> 
> So, I wanted to take a moment to apologize for the delay and thank all the readers, old and new who have left kudos and the most amazing, encouraging comments. Your words are taken to heart. Thank you all so much for sticking with me. And, especially, for Hypatia200.
> 
> ********************************************************************************

"Alright. We know he's taken her. The question is where?"

"From the looks of it, Daisy didn't go down without a fight. It would have to be someplace away from prying eyes and ears. Someplace he is familiar with. Do you have his last known residence?"

Jack nodded, his lips pulling into a thin line. "It's in the file. A boarding house in Fitzroy."

Phryne matched his grim expression. "It's unlikely he could keep a woman against her will in such close quarters without anyone noticing."

"We'll have to check regardless. You said, 'someplace he's familiar with'...'"

"You're thinking of the railway station!" she exclaimed.

"Gibbons would have had total access. No one would think twice if he disguised Miss Travers as freight." Jack winced at the sound of his own words. But it made perfect sense. The bustling, noisy station provided cover as well as anonymity.

"Jack, that station is massive." Only the sudden quietness of her voice betrayed her normally heady confidence. The thought that they would not reach Daisy Travers in time was not one she was willing to consider at the moment. "We need a search party. There's no way we can cover that kind of ground alone and have a hope of recovering Daisy alive."

A woman of action, Phryne Fisher usually led the charge - leaving Jack and the constabulary to follow in her considerable wake. But for the next quarter of an hour, she watched with more than a little pride as the Inspector commandeered City South. His exterior seemed to harden with the sense of purpose that flowed through him and his usually expressive eyes were rendered quite unreadable as his irises paled, reflecting out instead of in.

There was something she found completely irresistible about the way he wielded his authority - so long as he didn't attempt to wield it at her, of course. He was calm and deliberate. Not a word wasted. The sound of Jack's deep, commanding voice vibrated up her spine as he issued his orders.

A call to Russell Street confirmed that several of their men were already stationed at Flinders Street Station and could be tapped for the manhunt. He and Miss Fisher would take Collins, Sergeant Scott and six more constables to search the train station. Sergeant Taylor and Constable Mathis would secure Gibbons' boarding house and rendezvous with the team afterward.

City South was a blur of black and silver as men scattered to secure batons, helmets and, in the case of the most senior officers, weapons. Meanwhile, Jack was bent over Collins' desk jotting names next to each other in his notebook - pairing up the officers he knew to have had laid eyes on Gibbons or Daisy with those who had not. It was this kind of care and attention to detail that had fueled the Inspector's early climb up the constabulary ladder and it never failed to impress Phryne, no matter how many times she witnessed it.

He was drumming the fingers of his left hand and staring down at his notepad when she noticed that several names were left unpaired. His motion was abruptly stymied by a firm hand on his forearm.

"Dot can help. Remember that day at the train yard? The scuttlebutt with the trunk? She knows what Gibbons looks like."

Jack glanced up into her determined face, setting his jaw before returning to his moleskine. "I'm not inclined to send my Constable's fiancé into the clutches of a known killer, Miss Fisher."

" _Dot_ is quite capable of handling herself... particularly when armed with a thermos of tea," she reminded him tartly, cocking her head, her eyebrow arching to dangerous heights.

A resigned grunt was his only reply. Collins had eventually told him of the altercation on board the Pandarus in which Miss Williams had come to his aid. Nevertheless, the Inspector took his responsibilities seriously. He knew he held almost no sway with the lady detective once she set her mind to something - and her rag-tag army of staff was equally stubborn. But when he was in a position to call the shots, Jack would always err on the side of caution where their safety was concerned. Unfortunately, they were in a serious deficit: the search of a crowded train station with only a handful of officers who knew what their perpetrator looked like.

Phryne observed him keenly, read the concern etched across his face, the grim reality of the situation settling into the creases between his brows. When she saw him considering the idea, she pressed on.

"This is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. We need every advantage we can get. Besides, you've seen her in action. Dot isn't the sort to take unnecessary risks."

Even as the last 's' was still rolling from her tongue, Phryne realized the implication of her words. But it was too late. Jack's face had hardened - except for his eyes, which had deepened in color.

She cast her gaze downward, embarrassed at the thoughtless gaff that drew the spotlight to her own _needlessly reckless_ behavior, - as Jack had once put it. It was an unsettling feeling - this sudden worry that a few misplaced words had the power to dredge up painful memories that still threatened their partnership.

"And what about you?" she heard him ask in a gruff whisper. His question filling the space between them with the ghosts of their past.

She was indignant. _Why?_   Why after all this time should she still have to defend her particular brand of detecting? Which - while not without risk - was undeniably effective. Her spine straightened with the all too familiar surge of self-preservation and she jutted out her chin in defiance as she spoke, refusing to look at him.

"I will do whatever it takes!"

Jack stepped in as close as propriety would allow in a room full of policemen and allowed his thumb to whisper across the top of her hand. "I'm counting on it, Miss Fisher."

When she finally deigned to look in Jack's eyes, she found them burning devilishly bright.

If Phryne had been honest with herself, she would have admitted that she had not been entirely certain that Jack could remain true to his promise of never asking her to change. Not until that moment had she realized that she had been harboring this lingering doubt for some time. She released a huff of breath, her countenance twisting slightly in mock consternation before softening.

He smirked at her obvious relief and rumbled, "Now that we have that settled, let's discuss Miss Williams' role in this search."

A wide smile spread across Phryne's face as the last of her fears fell away. It was only with half an ear that she listened to Jack outline the conditions of accepting Dot's help - as it took most of her concentration to resist the urge to push him up against the large, wooden roll top and take possession of that beautiful mouth.

"...that means, she is to remain with her police escort at all times. Is that understood?"

The question shook her from her musings. "Of course," she vowed, silently grateful that the Inspector had no idea she would have agreed to anything he asked in that moment. Setting her mind to back to their mission, she pulled her pearl handled pistol out of her handbag to check that it was fully loaded.

Jack rolled his eyes, trying hard not to think about the legal implications of his lover pulling out an unregistered weapon in full view of most of the local constabulary. He attempted to shield her by widening his stance and placing his hands on his hips. "For god's sake, Phryne" he hissed. "If you need to take stock of your... considerable assets, go do it in my office - behind closed doors."

She pulled her lips into a quirk and dismissed his irritation with a wave of her hand. "I'm delighted to know that option is on the table, Inspector," she teased. "But, we've little time to spare for decorum. I'll telephone Cec and Bert to pick up Dot and have them meet us at the station."

"Good," he confirmed through clenched teeth and busied himself with holstering his own impeccably maintained revolver in the waistband of his suit trousers.

"Just one more thing, Jack... Speaking of assets... Your car or mine?"

 

XXXXXX

 

It was a good thing they had arrived first, Hugh thought. Of course if they hadn't, he probably wouldn't be keeled over and sweating bullets in an attempt to keep from heaving his breakfast all over the footpath.

It was not a state in which he wanted his counterparts at City South to witness him if he wanted his dignity to remain intact. Nor did he ever wish to repeat the experience that had landed him in this predicament in the first place. He was beginning to fully appreciate the dangers Dottie faced on a regular basis.

"Really, Miss Fisher. It wasn't necessary to terrify the lad," Jack admonished. "We still have to wait for the others."

She cut her eyes in that infuriating way that meant that while she had heard what he said, she had absolutely no intention of listening. All the same, he couldn't help but feel rather smug that - even on the most riotous drives with the lady detective - his own iron gut had never betrayed him in such an embarrassing fashion.

At that moment, a large black cab pulled up and a pretty young woman in obvious distress ran toward them.

"Miss! Inspector Robinson! What's wrong with Hugh? Is he ill? Is that why you called me here?"

"It's alright, Dot. Hugh will be fine," Phryne reassured her.

Dot looked between her employer and the Inspector, who confirmed the lady's statement with a solemn nod adding in explanation, "I believe this may be the first time Collins has had the pleasure of motoring with Miss Fisher."

The corner of Jack's mouth seemed to lilt up as he caught Phryne's twinkling eyes in a silent exchange before he excused himself to address the officers who had just arrived.

"Oh!" Dot sighed in comprehension just as Hugh's dignity lost the battle with his stomach.

"Dot," Phryne continued. "We need your help." The young woman's eyes turned from the direction of the retching to contemplate Miss Fisher. Dot listened intently as the recent developments in the case were laid out for her by the detective.

Dorothy was slightly disappointed to learn that she wouldn't be working alongside Hugh but, as they had both seen the suspect, she understood that they would each need to work with teams who had not. "I remember him, Miss. I won't let you down."

"You never have, Dot," Phryne said earnestly, placing a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "But remember, this man has killed at least two men and taken a girl hostage. There's no telling what he'll do if he feels trapped. So, keep your wits about you at all times."

"All set Miss Williams?" The Inspector called from where he was debriefing his men and splitting them up into search teams.

Dot locked eyes with Miss Fisher in affirmation before she set off to join her fiancé’s boss - whom she only recently confirmed to be her boss's lover. This latest distinction didn't bother Dorothy near as much as it should, given her priest's feelings on such matters. On the contrary, she actually felt rather proud that she had a hand in engineering the scheme that cinched the deal – a deception that would never be confessed during her weekly reconciliation.

"Yes, Inspector!" she called dutifully and hastened her step to join him.

"Miss Dorothy Williams, this is Senior Sergeant William Scott. I've already informed him that you were the one who confronted Russell Gibbons in the train yards... securing crucial evidence in the process." Dorothy felt her cheeks flush at the Inspector's words but rather than giving over to her blush, she decided, instead, to stand just that much taller in her beige mary janes as the Inspector continued. "You will be working with Sergeant Scott's team to identify the perpetrator. I trust that Miss Fisher has explained the situation?" A decisive nod assured him that she had. "Good. Then, I'll leave you to it."

While bringing civilians along on official police business was unusual, Miss Fisher and her staff weren't exactly typical civilians - as most of Victoria found out in the aftermath of the Sanderson case. The officers of City South had long been aware that the unruly crew had a knack for insinuating themselves in Inspector Robinson's cases. But Scott also knew that the Inspector consulted with them just as regularly. Rather than being bothered by it, he chose to trust his DI. He had worked with Robinson long enough to know that he was a man of the utmost integrity and judgment - whose clearance rate spoke for itself. Besides, he was curious to see what all the fuss was about - up close and personal. Scott jerked his head swiftly in deference as his superior officer departed to join his own team.

"Miss Williams," he greeted cordially, smiling widely at the girl who appeared stiff, standing at attention. As if she were a soldier awaiting her orders. Sergeant Scott wasn't altogether certain he could give orders to a woman and even less certain he could give them to one as pretty as Miss Williams. He felt suddenly tongue-tied. And so more out of politeness than anything else he added, "I understand you're also engaged to our Constable Collins."

"That may be, Sergeant," Dot confirmed, a streak of independence gripping her. She needed to set the record straight. "But, I am not here to darn his socks. I can assure you that my relationship with Hugh Collins will not affect my dedication to the job at hand."

Her tone was forthright and serious and Scott was sharp enough to know that she was attempting to establish herself as a credible team member in his eyes. Feeling mildly jealous of Robinson's increasingly curious and impressive connections, he extended her a hand, "I have no doubt of that, Miss Williams. No doubt at all. Let's get to work!"

 

XXXXXX

 

Once inside Flinders Station, the teams split up - each with orders to search their assigned corridors and quadrants, which the Inspector had mapped out methodically. With the addition of the men from Russell Street, they had enough competent manpower to bolster Jack's confidence somewhat and make communication easier. At intervals, a "runner" from each team would meet in a centralized location and debrief the others - who would then take the messages back to their team leaders. This allowed the DI to monitor and direct the progress of the operation without having to cease his own search.

But a little more than a half hour in, Jack felt the frustration clawing against the edges of his brain. There was no sign of Gibbons anywhere. None of the employees he had spoken with had recalled seeing the man in days. A pay packet still waited for him in the main office. No suspicious behavior had been reported or sighted by any of the teams. There wasn't even anything untoward on the manifests, save a few clues pointing to a rather amateurish bootleg operation - which Jack found he couldn't have cared less about in that moment. This wasn't right.. He had to talk to Miss Fisher.

Giving his men strict instructions to keep searching, he ran back across the yard toward the North corridor, where Phryne had been assigned.

"What do you mean, 'She's gone?'" the Inspector growled at a rather sizable constable, who seemed to be shrinking under his piercing gaze.

"M-Miss Fisher, Sir. One minute, she was havin' a word to Taylor and then, she just... scarpered."

"Where is Taylor now?"

"Was headin' for the yards. Musta been lookin' for you." The constable sighed with relief when Jack spun on his heel to track down Taylor.

" 'Sa matter, Tiny? Let the Inspector's pretty bird outta your sight?" remarked his hard-faced counterpart from Russell Street.

"Shut up!" the giant barked, easily pushing past the teasing constable to resume his duty. "And don't let him hear you say that... if you like wearin' that uniform."

"Ha! The famous DI Robinson don't scare me!"

Tiny just shook his head. "Just goes to show, you got more pride than sense. No wonder you ain't made Sergeant yet."

 

XXXXXX

 

She couldn't believe that she didn't think of it sooner! The train station, she realized had been the obvious choice - leaving them little option but to search it. A fact their killer had capitalized on, she surmised as she hurtled down the streets of Fitzroy in search of the address she had wrestled from Sergeant Taylor. Phryne slowed the Hispano down as she made the first pass around the tidy brick house. It was nondescript, situated on a decent patch of maintained yard, with an outbuilding that suggested a lack of indoor facilities. Good, she thought. He would have to surface sooner or later.

Circling around back, she parked her motorcar one street over and darted between gardens to take up a surveillance post behind the wash house. She crinkled her nose. Judging from the smell, someone had definitely been occupying the place more recently than Taylor had thought. She couldn't stay here, she thought, her eyes beginning to water. Slowly, she crept toward the main house - only to have to jump back when the sound of the back door being unbolted shot a surge of adrenaline through her veins.

Fighting to control her breath, she watched as the wiry man donned his cap and cupped his filthy hands around his mouth to light up a cigarette. When he lowered his arms, she noticed the small, round lighter being slipped back into his pocket. In her mind's eye, the image of Timothy Donovan's lifeless body covered in burn marks morphed into Daisy's and she felt her blood boil. It would do no good, however, to barge in there _like a freight train,_ \- charming or otherwise. As long as he was out here having a smoko, he wasn't inside hurting Daisy. So she bided her time, watching him pace along the small walk. Observing him as though he were an insect under glass.

Gibbons was left-handed, she noted. That would serve her well, since she blocked best with her right. He wasn't large but the way he moved suggested he knew how to handle himself. He had overpowered Melvin Payne, after all - a known brawler. She caught sight of something shiny at his hip. A knife, perhaps. Her fingers subconsciously flitted to her calf to ensure hers was still in place.

As he reached into his shirt pocket for another cigarette, he momentarily seemed to let his guard drop and his feet stilled. The stony expression he wore pulled into one of uncertainty as he lit the second from the still-glowing stump of the first. He regarded it for a moment with an air of reluctance before flicking the butt toward the wash house and following the walk around to the side garden.

Phryne seized her chance. She gave Gibbons a good three paces start before stalking up to the back door and making her way inside without a sound.

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Fisher's done it again! Does she always _have_ to be one step ahead?
> 
> (of course she does)

"Sir!"

Inspector Robinson whirled around toward the sound of the familiar high-pitched tenor and found Collins attempting to wave him down across the crowded hall, Sergeant Taylor on his heels.

"Inspector!" Hugh shouted again in relief at having found the man at last. "It's Miss Fisher!"

"I know, Collins! I know." It was _always_ Miss Fisher, he thought ruefully. Directing his attention to Taylor, he demanded, "Everything. Now."

Sergeant Taylor knew it was better not to mince words. He nodded and began, "Mathis and I just got back from searching Gibbons' place. Nothing - before you ask. So, we were about to find you to make our report when we ran into Miss Fisher and her team... I mean, the team Miss Fisher was on, Sir," he quickly clarified.

The Inspector rolled his eyes. "What did she say, Sergeant?"

"She said they were getting nowhere. That she didn't think he was here."

 _So, she was thinking along the same lines._ It shouldn't have but the knowledge gave him comfort. That was, until he was instantly certain she had taken off on her own to a more promising location.

"And what did you say?" he asked dangerously, taking a predatory step toward Taylor that even had Collins retreating in empathy.

"Nothing! Told her that I couldn't believe we had him in custody and here we are now, looking for him!"

"Custody?" the Inspector asked in a confused tone, nonplussed by the sergeant's response. "When did we have Gibbons in custody? He was never considered a suspect until today."

A throat cleared politely and Collins stepped forward. "Sir, if I may?"

"You may, Collins! You may!" his patience fraying with every second that separated him from Miss Fisher's side.

"Well, it's just that we didn't take Russell Gibbons into custody. He sought it himself, Sir. Remember?"

"The safe house!" Jack exclaimed. "Which one, Taylor?"

"The one in Fitzroy."

Jack nodded swiftly. "Sergeant, you're in charge. Have the teams finish sweeping the area - focus on gathering evidence, Taylor. You're not going to find him here. Collins, call an ambulance and gather a crew for back up to meet me in Fitzroy. Miss Fisher can't have gotten very far without an exact address."

Collins set his jaw, "Yes Sir!"

"Um, Inspector?"

"Yes, Sergeant? What is it?!"

Sergeant Taylor pulled nervously at his collar as he spoke, "About that _address_..."

 

XXXXXX

 

He was going to kill her. No. He was going to make sure she was alright, then he was going to kill her.

As the houses blew past in a blur outside Jack's window, he imagined her shrugging those impossibly white shoulders, her voice teasing, "I can't help if I'm one step ahead." He sighed heavily as he steered the police motorcar around the far side of the safe house and spotted her car in what was left of the day's fading light. _No_ , he supposed, _she couldn't_.

Cutting the engine, his last idle thought was to wonder if you could kiss someone to death. He would settle for _le petite mort_.

 

XXXXXX

 

It was very dim inside the house. Forlorn drapes, pulled tightly over every window, did their best to seal out the last remnants of sunlight. She hoped dearly that she had figured it out in time, that Daisy would live to see another sunrise.

Slowly, Phryne made her way through the unfamiliar layout, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of cheap furniture. Through the sparse kitchen, into a small den and then down the hall. She passed the first bedroom which, while currently unoccupied, explained why Gibbons no longer needed his room at the boarding house. A large ruck sack sat at the foot of a bed and the floor was strewn with empty cigarette packs. His sudden interest in police protection had clearly been an elaborate rouse to divert suspicion away from himself with the added benefit of gaining access to a secure location. If he wasn't such a lowlife, she might have admired him for his pluck.

The next room was much smaller and empty except for a small cot in the corner. But even in the darkness, Phryne could make out some kind of message written on the wall. She pulled her torch from her bandeau and shone it on the patch of wall, looking for clues. There was a long list of letters and numbers, the last of which was 'Qg5'. For a moment, she wondered if it was some sort of secret code - until she saw the tally marks:

RT     BW       JR  
III      IIII/      IIII/  
                    IIII/  
                     II

Smiling to herself as she spied the stub of a pencil on the cot, she extinguished the light and wondered how many nights Jack had spent here, advancing his pieces in a game of virtual chess while safeguarding his charge.

Her smile quickly faded as she approached the last bedroom, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. The door was partially closed and it squeaked as she pushed it open far enough to gain entrance. The mattress had been pushed up against the far wall, presumably to block the window from prying eyes and ears. Wiring for a crude lamp hung down from the ceiling but she didn't dare switch on the button. As she moved closer, she could see there was no bulb, anyway. In the corner of the room sat a hooded figure, tied to a heavy, wooden chair.

"Miss Travers?" she whispered, gently placing her hand on the young woman's shoulders. She felt the flesh beneath her flinch and it made the hair on the back of Phryne's neck stand up. "Daisy," she said again. "It's Miss Fisher. Phryne. I'm going to remove the hood, now, alright?" Daisy nodded understanding and Phryne continued, "But, please! You must be quiet! He's just outside."

Phryne pulled the grain sack from the girl's head and swallowed a sob. Daisy's face was covered in grime and stained with tears, sweat and dried blood. Her left eye was swollen nearly shut and her lips were torn. But she was alive! She removed the gag and began to work on cutting the bindings, explaining in a rush, "I'm getting you out of here. We haven't much time."

The rope came loose all at once and a puff of relief escaped Daisy's lips before the pain of the blood supply re-entering her limbs hit her. Phryne moved to clap a hand over her face to muffle the noise but Daisy came to herself and bit down on her cry. Aware that Gibbons could reappear at any moment, she only allowed Miss Travers a moment to recover before encouraging her to try to stand. When it was clear that she could not, she offered, "Here, let me rub some feeling back into your legs, so you can walk."

"No!" Daisy hissed, pulling her foot out of the detective's reach.

"Daisy? It is broken? What's he done to you?" Her torch confirmed her fears, the vision she had at the sight of Gibbons' lighter only slightly paled to the grim reality. Daisy's legs were livid with red-hot welts and blisters from where he had tortured her for information.

"I didn't tell him nuthin' Miss," she said proudly, to spite the fear and pain she felt. "He dunno you're after 'im for killin' Mel. Thinks the Inspector was tryin' to flip me so you could bring down the brothel."

"That was good thinking, Daisy," Phryne told her, pushing a lock of sweaty hair from the girl's face. This time, she didn't flinch. "And, it's probably the reason you're still alive. Now, let's keep it that way."

Miss Fisher stood and offered the girl her arm. "Lean on me."

They were able to get as far as the Gibbons' bedroom before they heard the back door snap shut. The two women froze where they stood, listening to the sound of rustling in the kitchen. From the shadows they watched as he emerged, brown bottle in hand sitting heavily the threadbare couch. He uncorked the grog and took a long draught. Was it a moment of weakness or a moment of reckoning? Phryne had little desire to find out. She had to get Daisy to safety.

She leaned in to Daisy's ear and spoke as quietly as she could. "I'll distract him. As soon as he passes, get straight out the back door and walk past the wash house into the next garden. My car - it's a convertible - is parked on the street. Get in it and Inspector Robinson will find you."

Daisy nodded and squeezed Miss Fisher's hand, holding her there for just a moment more. "But..."

Phryne silenced her by returning the pressure. "Don't worry about me. Just get to the car, Daisy. _The car!_   Past the wash house and just beyond the garden. Don't stop for anything or anyone."

And then, Miss Fisher was gone.

 

XXXXXX

 

 _Goddammit!_ He needed some air. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt uncertain. He had a niggling feeling that the whore knew something she wasn't telling him. But all her answers made sense. He replayed it again as he lit up a third smoke.

The cop was squeezing her. She said she went along with it at first, thinking him rather charming. _Ha! A copper, charming!_ That had given him a good laugh. _Only a stupid, naive little twit like her could think that were true._ He began to press harder for names and asked her to turn spy for him. That's when she said she got acquainted with the lady. Miss Fisher had tried to persuade her to help, too. Told her a man had just been killed over a drug deal gone bad with one of the gangs and they were trying to get to the bottom of it.

_So! The cops thought Payne got himself offed in a drug melee! Then what?_

After some persuading of his own, the whore confessed that she had worked undercover with the policeman and the detective - who hoped to entrap the murderer. Then her brother got in the way. They had called her back to the station yesterday to plot another attempt. This time, she refused. Said her brother had told her about his friend, Mel and she got scared - he had been a regular. Said she told the pretty copper to get himself stuffed, make good on his threat to lock her up if he needed to - it was safer in the cells than to run at the gangs. Instead he threw her out of his office, she said.

 _Then what was she hiding? Maybe she and the cop were having a little something on the side. Maybe she was planning to snoop on the gangs after all. She wouldn't want that getting out._ He turned the puzzle around and around. _Maybe the cops weren't on his trail._ But he had to know for sure.

After a visit to the dunny, Gibbons made his way back inside the safe house. He almost hated to have to leave it. _It was a nice little place,_ he thought. _Convenient._ He rummaged through the pantry and came up with a dusty bottle. He needed a little liquid courage for what he was about to do. As the rum burned this throat, he thought about the years he had spent on the run after the botched bank job, finally taking up as a wharfie in Port Pirie. He had perfected his smuggling operations at the docks by watching dumber, greedier men getting busted by the cops. But when it became too hot even for his own modest sidelines, he moved back to Melbourne and then on to the rails. Imagine his surprise to run into the one man who could bring it all to an end. He had come too far to get caught now.

A loud **_crack!_  ** from the far room pulled him out of his reverie. "Best get this over with, then," he muttered.

 

XXXXXX

 

"Found yer fight, did ya?" he asked, picking up the broken chair spindle after nearly slipping on it.

Phryne battled her nerves, the bile rising in her throat. She had loathed donning the burlap sack, its presence increased her feeling of dread as much as it diminished her ability to see. But she had to complete the illusion to give Daisy as much time as possible to make a clean escape. The darkness of the room was working to her favor. Her captor had not seemed to notice a difference. A shivering form, hooded and bound to a chair (or pretending to be) gave him no reason to suspect that all was anything but the way he had left it.

Gibbons tossed the piece of wood across the room and closed in on her. "Won't do ya any good." She heard the slip of metal being unsheathed and so, it was of little surprise when she felt the tip of a blade at the crux of her throat. "Yer gonna tell me what you ain't said! I'll get it outta ya," he threatened. "Or have you forgotten?" Unable to see, Phryne was so focused on the knife that she had not expected the searing sensation that tore through her thigh. She shrieked in pain. Gibbons had pressed the lighter into her lap, burning through her trousers to her leg.

"Do I need to keep going? Burn right through that money spinner of yours?" His voice was menacing, fortified by the cheap booze she should smell on his breath and Phryne nearly retched at the sheer brutality of the threat. She shook her head violently, gripping her gun tightly in her right hand. "Then what you hiding from me?"

With all her anger and strength, she leaned back in the chair, tipping it over, and somersaulted over the back. Yanking the hood from her face, she leveled her weapon at Gibbons, "Oh! Not much," she said glibly. "Only that you'll be swinging from a noose this time next week." For a moment, he was stunned into silence. Then, he recognized her.

"You fucking _whore!_ Where's your copper? Not here to protect ya is he?" He kicked the chair out his path and advanced a step, brandishing his knife. "Just us two."

"That's just as I like it," Phryne replied dangerously, cocking the trigger. "It's high time someone taught you to respect the fairer sex."

He stilled, biding time. He hadn't gone through all this to be shot now. And certainly not by some uppity sheila. He held his hands up in the air, letting the lighter clatter to the floor though still gripping the blade against his palm with his thumb.

"The knife," she commanded. "Drop it."

Slowly, Gibbons bent at the knees in acquiescence to her. Phryne followed him with the business end of her snub-nosed pistol but he was too fast. Gibbons picked up the chair and hurled it at her. Phryne lunged out of the way fast enough to avoid serious injury but not before it caught her hand, sending her gun flying. When the impact of its fall set the gun off, the shot splintered the evening air. Phryne held her breath, not knowing where the stray bullet might find purchase.

 

XXXXXX

 

Jack had made it to the far side of the wash house when he heard it. Frantic breath. Slowly, he edged his way around the corner and dropped to his knees. "Miss Travers?" _Thank god! They were safe!_

She was propped up against the building, pale and shaking with pain. Murmuring the same thing over and over again. It sounded like, "The car."

"Miss Travers!"

She looked at him with wide, unfocused eyes. "The car!" she said, more distinctly this time. "Don't stop for no one!"

"It's all right, Miss Travers. It's Inspector Robinson." He reached a hand to her and she shrunk backwards.

She shook her head, her voice taking on a shrill pitch, "No! _'Get to the car,'_ she said. _'Don't stop!'_ "

"She? Miss Fisher?" Jack asked, fear creeping into his voice. "Miss Fisher's still in there?"

Daisy nodded and continued her mantra, crying now, "The car! Get to the car!"

Jack had to think quickly. Miss Travers was definitely in shock but seemed to be in no immediate physical danger. Whereas Miss Fisher was locked inside with a murderer - able though she may be. But he couldn't leave the girl out here in the open like this - it was clear she needed medical attention. Opting to heed Phryne's advise, Jack approached her carefully.

"Daisy?" he asked, taking the liberty of using her given name in hopes of... well, he wasn't sure of what exactly. It just seemed the thing to do.

"I'm going to help you to Miss Fisher's car. Alright?" He waited a moment as she looked into his eyes, a spark of recognition lighting on her face.

"Inspector Robinson?"

He nodded solemnly. "That's it. Now, hold on." Carefully Jack picked her up, wincing at the girl's whelps of pain, but not slowing for an instant until he reached the Hispano-Suiza. Placing her gently into the back seat, the Inspector noticed the evidence of her torture across her legs and arms. His jaw tightened. "You're safe now," he said quietly and wrapped his overcoat around her. He would never get used to bearing witness to this kind of violence. A fact that gave him as much hope as it did dread.

Jack didn't have time to ponder his feelings for long as the sound of gun fire rang through the air. Legs pumping beneath him, he sprinted back toward the safe house with his revolver drawn.

 

XXXXXX

 

Satisfied she hadn't been shot, (unfortunately, neither had Gibbons), Phryne made to reach for her dagger when a hand seized her throat like a vice. She ignored the burning in her lungs, the force against her windpipe and gripped his thumb, wrenching it back. Sheer pain forced him to break his hold and she shunted the heel of her hand into his windpipe. Gibbons fell backwards, retching and wheezing to reclaim his breath. But then he came at her again - the indignity of being overpowered by a woman incensing him.

She blocked his blade and brandished her own, liberated at last from the holster at her calf. She took a swing and barely missed, grazing his forearm.

"Not very ladylike," he sneered and came at her with the full force of his weight. She buried her dagger up to the hilt in his thigh. _Payback,_ she thought as he backed away from her. But Phryne's eyes widened as he slowly removed it and tossed it to the floor.

She tried to circle around to the door but, Gibbons blocked her path. A swift jab to her torso had Phryne gasping for breath. He took his advantage and forced her up against the wall, banging her head against the plaster.

"Like to play with the big boys, do ya?" he taunted. "Well, not for long." Wielding his knife, Gibbons pulled back his arm to run her through - when the banging open of the back door distracted him.

"Miss Fisher? _Phryne?!_ "

"Not long, for you - you mean," Phryne retorted, tilting her head in her usual maddening fashion. "In here, Jack!"

Gibbons keened in frustration as he lunged at her.

She twisted her body and shifted all of her weight to her left, narrowly avoiding a blade between her ribs. But she had not escaped entirely. The knife had penetrated her clothing and was driven deep into the plaster. She was pinned to the wall like a butterfly specimen.

Thinking her best course of action was more subterfuge, she cried out as if in agony and threw her arms around him. She held him there so he couldn't see that his aim had missed and... so she could drive her knee straight into his groin.

"ARRGGHHH! You bitch!" he huffed, doubling over and trying to tear himself away from her. But leverage was on her side. She threaded her fingers behind his back and concentrated every ounce of her strength into the ball of her foot. When it collided with his kneecap, a sickening crunch told her that she had succeeded in breaking it.

Gibbons fell to the floor in a heap, the pain of her final blow causing him to heave his guts where he lay.

Jack entered the darkened room, his revolver trained on the prone form of Russell Gibbons. "Alright, Miss Fisher?"

"Nice of you to join us, Inspector." Her breath was heavy with exertion, "Mr. Gibbons and I were just getting reacquainted." It was said as nonchalantly as she could manage with the relief at Jack's presence flooding her system.

The threat of imminent danger lifted, her mind suddenly seized on who had brought her here in the first place. "Daisy?" she asked.

"Safe," Jack confirmed before kneeling into the man's back and cuffing him. "Russell Gibbons, you're under arrest for the murders of Timothy Donovan and Melvin Payne and the kidnap and attempted murder of Miss Daisy Travers."

Gibbons attempted to spit at the cop at the mention of the whore's name. But all he could manage was to dribble sick down his chin before he fell unconscious.

Jack just shook his head before turning his attention to the lady detective. She had not ventured from her position on the wall, leading him to suspicion.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, finally making connection with the light switch. Nothing happened.

"The bulb's missing."

"Ah. And, you're avoiding the question."

"No," she answered, a little too quickly and in too high a pitch for his liking.

"I heard a shot," he led.

It was rather like having to interrogate a subversive witness. He moved closer to her, silently demanding. Normally, he enjoyed their verbal sparring but he was growing more worried by the second. He inspected her, allowing his eyes to roam over every inch. She was holding herself in an odd posture and seemed to be favoring her right hand a bit. There was no blood that he could see but that didn't mean... It could have entered through her back. An expanse of supple, white skin flashed before him in his mind's eye, a deep dark bullet hole seeping thick, red liquid. He pushed the image away quickly.

"I'm fine. It was a misfire. I lost my gun after that _charmer_ threw a chair at me." She attempted to wiggle her right hand and winced. "My wrist might be sprained."

"That doesn't explain why you're not moving."

"I _can't_ move, Jack. I've been fixed to the wall and the angle's all wrong for leverage," she said with exasperation.

She lit her torch and lifted her right arm to reveal Gibbons' knife pinioning her by her garments. Jack goggled at the spot, mouth slightly ajar. He looked to her face and back to the knife, comprehension dawning. The look of shock on his face was almost worth the trouble she had been through. Almost.

"I can't get loose on my own without shedding an indecent amount of clothing in the process," her voice shifting into playful tones.

"Is this what it takes to subdue you Miss Fisher?" he asked quietly, looking up at her through his lashes as he extricated the knife from its stranglehold in the wall.

"Jack," she purred, smoothing down his lapels. "Don't be silly. You know full well I can't be subdued."

"Too right," he readily agreed, the hint of an appreciative smirk disappearing from his mouth as his reinforcements arrived.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We join our battered crew at the hospital.

"How's your wrist?" he asked, when she finally appeared.

"Fine," she replied, ignoring his poignant look at her bandaged hand. "Any news from Mac?"

Jack shook his head.

They had set up a makeshift briefing room in one of the administration offices. With his considerable injuries, there was no choice but to bring Gibbons to hospital. He had arrived under guard and been taken to a secure area for triage. Daisy, meanwhile, had traveled by ambulance and was currently being treated by Doctor MacMillan at Phryne's request.

"Were you able to reach Cec and Bert?"

"They found Mr. Travers at the public house. He's in the waiting room with Collins. Quite anxious to see his sister."

A brisk knock at the door preceded the entrance of Doctor Mac. Her face was grim as she sunk into one of the leather chairs. "I don't know how you always manage to find this kind of trouble, Phryne," she huffed.

"How is she, Mac?" Phryne asked, ignoring the taunt from her oldest friend.

Mac thought it best to start with the facts. "There's no evidence that he used a knife on her. Nor any indication of forcible penetration."

"Thank god," Phryne breathed.

"Rope burns, obviously, on her wrists and ankles. And first and second degree burns over most of her right leg and patches on her left arm and torso from - what did you say? A lighter?" Mac shook away the grisly thought and continued. "Fortunately, those have started to blister which gives her some protection against infection. I've given her something for the pain and applied compresses of black tea."

In answer to the Inspector's quizzical look, she explained, "The tannins in the tea help draw the heat from the burns. Might be a good idea for you to do the same, Phryne," she added. "It could lessen the scarring as well."

At those words, the Inspector's face changed from one of interest to downright incredulity as he turned toward Phryne. "What?"

"Mac!" Phryne hissed as she flashed her eyes at the doctor before silently imploring Jack to let it drop for now.

"Apologies," Mac said, not sounding sorry in the least. "I didn't realize I was speaking out of turn." But Mac was no fool. She knew her friend far too well, had too much respect for Jack Robinson and too little time to allow Phryne's little charade to continue.

"I haven't had a chance to give the Inspector my statement." Phryne said, readying to mount her defense before Jack could get a word in.

Mac brushed it away with a flick of her hand and fixed them both with a stare. "I'm not here to tiptoe around your love life, Phryne. I'm here to talk about Miss Travers."

At that, the two detectives shared a guilty look and quietly composed themselves. Phryne smoothed her bob with her left hand and Jack cleared his throat as he straightened his tie.

Mac had long suspected a romantic entanglement between the pair. She knew they had had their ups and downs but since Phryne's return from Bairnsdale, the doctor thought that something had finally shifted between them. Their current lack of denial confirmed it.

The Inspector spoke first. "Quite right, Doctor. Please continue."

"Thank you. As I was saying, I have every reason to believe that Miss Travers will recover from her physical injuries. But she's in shock. We're doing everything we can to keep her comfortable but her body needs time to recover from the trauma. Phryne, she can't go back out on the streets. Does she have anyone?"

"A brother, a Mr. Robert Travers. He's here," Jack informed her.

"He cares about her, Mac. I'm sure he'll do the right thing," Phryne interjected. "And, I'll help any way I can."

Of course, Mac knew she would. Nodding, she regarded her friend and the Inspector before standing to take her leave. "Oh!" she added in retrospect to the latter. "You might like to know that after the application of a few dozen sutures and a cast, your man will be more than fit to be mobilized to the gaol."

"Thank you, Doctor MacMillan."

"I think it's about time you started calling me _Mac_ , Inspector."

 

XXXXXX

 

Jack thought he had a fair idea of what had transpired. Her dagger had been found at the scene and was currently in evidence. The stray slug had been found as well, buried deep in the mattress that had been propped against the window. The unregistered gun it belonged to, however, would not be recovered. It had been locked safely in the Hispano's boot by the DI himself.

Nevertheless, he listened intently as Miss Fisher recounted how she had realized Gibbons was holding Daisy at the safe house and followed her instincts, surveilling the location and making her move to free Daisy. He took his own notes even though he could hear Collins scribbling furiously behind him.

It was somewhat difficult to remember to put his pencil to the paper as he learned how her thoroughly convincing impersonation of the captive girl had led to Miss Fisher receiving a burn of her own on her left thigh. Jack's teeth were clenching as she described having the man temporarily subdued, only to lose her weapon.

The truth was, he had been fighting for self-control ever since Phryne had described pulling the grain sack over her own head in order to fool Gibbons.

 _Stay calm_ , he told himself. She had gone head-to-head with a killer and emerged the victor. She could handle herself. The proof was sitting right in front of him. So, why did he feel like he couldn't breathe? But, _what if_? The question clouded his chest like a fog. What if he hadn't gotten the message? What if he hadn't gotten there in time?

When she explained how she had broken the man's chokehold, the room went eerily quiet.

"Did you really, Miss?" Hugh finally asked, awestruck.

"The thumbs are the most vulnerable point of the hand, Hugh. Not very strong on their own. I'd be happy to teach you sometime..."

"A-HEM!"

"Sorry, Inspector. As I was saying, I managed to break free and that's when I stabbed him in the leg."

"Can't imagine he was too pleased with that," Jack said, steeling himself for what would come next.

She continued, describing how she had been forced to the wall and nearly stabbed herself - generously (she thought) giving Jack credit for distracting her assailant. Her tale culminated with the cracking of Gibbons' knee and several impressed guffaws from Collins.

But Phryne was no fool. Despite her cavalier tone, she knew how difficult this was for him to hear. It was all the more reason, then, to be forthright about what had happened. She clasped her hands in front of her on the table and raised her chin a fraction of an inch. "And, that's when you arrived, Inspector."

Jack stared her down, allowing several long moments of silence to penetrate the air, as he gripped the sides of the table in a vie for stability.

Hugh - who had barely taken his eyes off Miss Fisher since she described how she overpowered the man - averted his gaze as he realized that the atmosphere between the two detectives had changed from professional to something very, very personal. He suddenly felt like running from the room, not wishing to be a party to the argument that was about to ensue.

"That'll be all, Collins," the Inspector said gruffly, in dismissal.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!" he blurted out and rushed from the office, closing the door tightly behind him.

 

XXXXXX

 

Hugh hadn't made it very far when one of junior constables he recognized from Russell Street barked at him.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson in there?"

"He's interviewing a witness," Collins said with an authority he didn't quite feel, leveling his gaze the way he had seen Inspector Robinson do countless times when he wanted to assert some invisible boundary. He could only imagine the grief he would catch if he allowed the officer to witness a row between City South's head DI and the most talked about private detective in Melbourne. He'd be working second shift for a month!

"He's not to be disturbed. What's the trouble?"

"No trouble. Just, my DI wants a status report," the young man explained.

"Tell your boss that the perpetrator has been apprehended and is in custody. He'll have a copy of the full report on his desk tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir!"

Collins blinked. He had never been called, "Sir" before. A smile grazed his lips as he called the lad back, remembering something Miss Fisher had once told him about greasing the wheels, "And constable, be sure to tell him that City South appreciates the assist."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

Feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, Hugh made his way to search for a typewriter and a telephone. He had the sudden need to speak to his fiancé.

 

XXXXXX

 

"Now Jack," she began. He had edged closer to her, storm clouds breaking over his countenance. "Before you deliver your lecture, I'm completely capable of taking care of mysel- mmphh!"

With his left hand behind her head, the other at her spine, he had dragged her to him - covering her mouth with his own.

When the pressure of her lips wasn't enough to quench his desire for closeness, he nipped at her - forcing her mouth to open with the small sound of pleasure she always made at the maneuver - and slipped in his tongue.

He knew then just how desperate he had been to feel her. Every near miss he had heard her describe in her statement drove him, not only to reel in distress but, insane with the need to promise her - without words - that he would always be there. And so, it was little surprise when he found himself pulling her onto his lap and kissing her with abandon.

What did come as a surprise was how much she seemed to need him, too. She had wound her arms around his shoulders, pressing him tightly against her. She refused to allow him to remove his lips from hers - not even to lick and suck at her neck. Each time he tried, she simply captured them back - a hand fisting in his hair as she teased his tongue back into her awaiting mouth. When she had no choice but to pull away for air, she leaned into his neck and whispered, "I want you, Jack."

Blind as he was with desire for her, he could not escape the fact that he was Jack Robinson. He wasn't about to forget they were in a public building - a frosted glass door, the only thing between them and discovery. "Not here," he breathed, his body betraying him thoroughly by gripping her tightly and grinding her down on his hips.

She wantonly joined in, wrenching a moan from his throat. "Yes, here."

"But..."

She shook her head and slowly pushed herself off him, allowing the vicious suck of need to fill the empty space that now separated their bodies. She leaned gingerly against the table and began slowly unfastening her trousers. "Lock the door."

"Phryne..."

"Jack." He heard her voice catch on his name as he watched her slide her fingers down between the layers of wool and silk. "I _need_ you. Now."

Those words were all it took. _All it would ever take,_ he realized - as he all but leapt from the chair and bolted the door. She leaned back and pushed the fabric off her hips while he unfastened his braces at the waist. In one swift push, he was inside her. Swallowing both their cries by taking her mouth once more.

Clutching at the small of his back, she forced him deeper, flexing her muscles so he could feel her embrace from the inside, milking him until he saw stars. It was glorious torture but not one he was willing to endure alone. He swiped at her with his thumb and felt her buck against him instantly.

Jack knew there was no way she was going to last. So he willingly abandoned the last shred of control he possessed and gave into her completely.

 

XXXXXX

 

It was an odd thing to realize while buttoning her lover's braces, Phryne had to admit. She had never reached ecstasy that quickly before - not even by her own hand. It had not even been a matter of minutes. She supposed the thrill of the mystery, of life and death hanging in the balance, the succor of justice prevailing and being alive. But mostly, she realized it was because she was alive and in his arms. So startled was she by this revelation, she was almost embarrassed. She held a certain pride in being able to prolong her amorous activities and it might have made her slightly nervous that a man could have such an effect on her - if it wasn't for the identity of the man in question.

She fashioned his tie into the half-Windsor she preferred, while he distracted her by nuzzling her ear and pressing kisses to the corner of her smirking lips. It took several attempts - what with her bandaged hand and the fact that she found herself repeatedly ruining her work in efforts to drag him closer.

When his fingers inadvertently found the holes in her blouse created by Gibbons' blade, he stilled his kiss. "Thank goodness you're safe." His voice was breathy and deep with emotion, his lips moving against hers as he spoke. It sounded like a prayer.

She held his face, curling her fingers behind his ears, and pulled back far enough to search his eyes. They were dark and deep, tiny crinkles of worry spidering around them. Her gaze softened immediately, even though her lips still held the shadow of an impish smile. "Thank goodness your timing is impeccable."

She tilted her head and feathered a kiss over his philtrum, the cleft of his chin, the corner of his jaw, until she felt him release his breath. Only then did she kiss his mouth - impossibly gently at first, only deepening the kiss when his hand had released the offending garment and followed the line of her spine instead.

"Phryyyneee? PHRYNE! I demand to see my niece, Doctor MacMillan!"

"Speaking of impeccable timing," Jack snarked softly as Phryne huffed her breath in resignation, detangling herself from his arms.

She walked swiftly to the door, unlocking it and turning the handle with one move to reveal a white-haired, plump, incredibly vexed woman. "Aunt Prudence! What are you doing here?"

"Phryne!" Prudence cried in frustration, following her niece at a clip down the hall from whence she had come. "I had half the Hospital Board telephoning to say you were mixed up in some sort of violent altercation that led to your _Inspector_ here and most of the Victoria Police taking up residence in our board room!" Prudence had come to feel a certain regard for the Detective Inspector - especially in the last few months. But this really was the limit!

Jack had the good sense to appear sanctioned by Mrs. Stanley's tone but, Phryne knew him well enough to see through it.

"Aunt P., that's hardly fair. A young woman was being tortured by the murderer Jack and I apprehended..."

"It's _'Jack and I,'_ now, is it, Phryne? We've finally dropped all pretense?"

Mac had to bite down on a laugh at this as Phryne blinked twice, taking in the many possible meanings of her aunt's words. Surely she couldn't suspect...

It was Jack who finally broke the awkward silence and stepped forward. "Mrs. Stanley, your niece saved a girl's life tonight. At no small threat to her own, I might add. Furthermore," he asserted before the woman could interrupt him, "Miss Fisher inflicted enough damage on the perpetrator to require immediate medical intervention. I apologize if it was an inconvenience for the Board but I had no choice in the matter. Police protocol. I hope you can understand."

"Yes... Well… Of course, Inspector." He really could be quite persuasive and she did appreciate his willingness to be candid with her. "But, you said Phryne's life was in danger?" she asked, her pallor blanching as her eyes saw Phryne's bandage for the first time.

"She fought off a killer, Mrs. Stanley. With her bare hands - a feat I'm not sure some of my constables could have managed." Though his words addressed the elder, Jack's eyes were fixed on Phryne. "And certainly not with such finesse."

"Phryne, my dear," Aunt P. crooned as she lifted Phryne's wrist gingerly in her hands. "Tell me all." With a fond look back at Jack, Phryne ushered her devoted aunt into Mac's office. Even though she longed for a decent meal, a hot bath and Jack's warm arms around her, Phryne knew that it was better to oblige her Aunt if gossip was already afoot. Mac joined in, doing her part to ensure the smoothest possible discharge for her friend. "Sherry, Mrs. Stanley?" Mac asked. "Medicinal, of course."

The Inspector knew a lost cause when he saw one, and so, left the women alone to make his final orders for the night.

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Jack really as OK with Phryne's injuries as he seems? (And, a small push - OK, shove - from everybody's favorite butler.)

Confident that Gibbons was well guarded (and heavily sedated), the Inspector had gathered his things to go but found himself watching the woman sleep instead.

"There you are," Phryne said quietly. Jack half turned from where he had propped himself in the doorway of Daisy Travers' room, where her brother had nodded off in the chair beside her bed. "How is she?"

"Seems to be resting peacefully." He paused for a beat before asking, "Do you think she'll recover?"

"She's strong, Jack," she replied, attempting to respond to a question for which she had no answer - only hope. She gathered her coat around herself as if suddenly chilled and looked up at him with imploring eyes. "Take me home?"

"Of course."

 

XXXXXX

 

The day had finally caught up to her. She was exhausted and sore - and had felt not even the smallest inclination to protest when Jack had slipped her in the passenger side of the Hispano and taken the wheel.

The cool air whipped through her bob and she realized that she must have lost her hat at some point. Though, she couldn't really muster the energy to care. Bringing her feet up to the seat, she hugged her knees - mindful of the throbbing patch of burnt skin - and arched her neck to watch the night sky as they passed beneath the stars.

Phryne took it in turns to close her eyes, grounding herself in the sing song rhythm of the engine under Jack's careful hand, only to open them again to be swept up by the firmament.

When she rocked with the familiar dips and dents of her St. Kilda drive, she finally turned to Jack and found herself greeted with the tender smile he reserved just for her.

He couldn't help himself. Her resilience in the face of unspeakable tragedy and her ability to find joy _in all the dark places_ was irresistible.

It was only at her doorstep that he hesitated, taking a half-step back as her key fell into the lock.

"You're not coming in?" she asked in a crestfallen voice. She had hoped that in light of recent events, Jack might be a bit more open to revealing their new understanding.

"It's not that I don't want to, Phryne," he argued lamely. "It's just..."

But the decision was taken well out of his hands as the door abruptly opened with a notably relieved, "Miss! Inspector!"

Mr. Butler, outfitted in a gleaming gold and burgundy dressing gown, expeditiously ushered them inside. "I was beginning to worry, Miss. I thought perhaps Constable Collins had underestimated the extent of your injuries."

"No. Just waylaid by Aunt P.," Phryne remarked, receiving a knowing smile from Mr. B. in return.

A generous tumbler of whiskey was pressed to each of them before he disappeared for an instant only to materialize again with a tray of tea and sandwiches. "You must be famished." Jack's eyes grew round as saucers, realizing that he hadn't had a proper meal all day.

When they were settled at the corner of the dining table, Mr. Butler waited for the opportunity of full mouths -not being able to interrupt him - in order to make himself perfectly clear.

"I'm afraid Dorothy has retired for the evening. And, as I was about to do the same, I'll draw your bath on my way up Miss. I've also taken the liberty of preparing the guest room for the Inspector."

In response to the looks of surprise and mutiny he was currently receiving, Tobias continued, "I thought that after everything you've been through today, Miss, it might put your mind at ease to have a police presence."

The stately man gave little thought whatsoever to overstepping his bounds - that was a line he had decided to cross the moment he had set the Inspector off on the Bairnsdale train. He simply looked between them politely.

Jack opened his mouth to protest but, realizing it was still full of ham and pickle, had no choice but to shut it again quickly.

Miss Fisher swallowed her sandwich with great effort. "Thank you, Mr. Butler," she said softly. "It would."

"Very good. Constable Collins also mentioned something about a burn?"

Phryne could only nod. She really shouldn't be surprised at how quickly information traveled within her household.

Mr. Butler barely waited for her to confirm the intelligence before he continued, "I'm very sorry to hear it. But, I've laid out a poultice on your dressing table. It's Mrs. Butler's remedy. Perfected when I attended Le Cordon Bleu."

"Cast iron pans?" she asked, her eyebrow raised in amusement.

"On more than one occasion, I'm afraid," he confirmed with a kind smile. "Is there anything else you require, Miss?"

"You've thought of all. Thank you, Mr. B."

Mr. Butler bowed his mistress goodnight before addressing Inspector Robinson with a twinkle in his eye. "Inspector, I believe you'll find you have _everything _you need."__

 

XXXXXX

 

THUMP... ...THUMP, THUMP. She smiled at the staccato but did not open her eyes, feeling the tiniest bit guilty for wanting to hear it again.

Jack was feeling rather nervous. He had only darkened this particular door on one other occasion. And considering that it had been to apprehend a murderous jewel thief, he didn't think it counted per se. Adding to his discomfit was the fact that he was currently outfitted in an indecently expensive - and equally comfortable - set of pyjamas.

Mr. Butler had not only been speaking in the metaphorical sense when assuring him he would find everything he needed. The guest room held not only a hot bath waiting for Jack - along with strict instructions to leave his suit out for laundering - but also, an array of toiletries, a crisp white shirt in precisely his size and a pair of navy blue pyjamas in the finest cotton.

Afraid he would find more luxuries, Jack had stopped looking and reluctantly donned the nightwear only out of the fear that he might encounter Miss Williams in the hall.

THUMP... ...THUMP, THUMP.

"Come in."

Half expecting Phryne to pounce on him the moment he had knocked, he was surprised when she had called out to him. _Of course, she could be lying in wait on the bed._ He swallowed hard at the thought and pushed open the door.

Entering the room, he carefully surveyed his surroundings. She was neither at the door nor on the bed, which confused him further as he wrestled with competing feelings of relief and disappointment. The soft splashing of water from behind a large, chinoiserie screen informed him that she was still indulging in her soak.

The room was dimly lit, the walls seeming to glow with a halo of undeterminable soft color - but one he was certain would elevate her beauty to that of a goddess when he did lay eyes on her.

The furnishings were sumptuous and ornate, like her parlour. He took in the artwork - a more intimate variety than the works displayed downstairs - but, it echoed her taste all the same. Naturally he was predisposed to favor one piece in particular but, was surprised to find himself quite enamoured with its neighbouring pastoral landscape.

"Jack..." It wasn't a question as much as a statement.

He cleared his throat. "Miss Fisher," he replied clumsily, his voice still sounding hoarser than he would have liked.

"It's not like you to be shy. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied, suddenly realizing he was behaving more like a skittish adolescent than a man. Though, in his defense, she was more than capable of having that effect on him. He stepped past the screen with a smirk plastered to his face, ready to encounter a tigress. "Didn't want to intrude..."

But, what he saw halted him in his tracks. The Phryne Fisher before him wasn't a tigress at all. In fact, there wasn't a shred of her usual sultriness on display.

Her hair was wet and swept back off her forehead. Her face was scrubbed clean. Submerged up to her shoulders, she rested her arms along the edges in a ballerina's arc - her bandaged wrist dangling precariously close to the milky water. She looked innocent, almost fragile, as she regarded him with sleepy, doe eyes.

Every impulse in his body cried out for him to pull her to his breast and never let go. But, this wasn't Shakespeare. And so, he settled for stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Mmm. I think I'm quite waterlogged enough. Give me a moment, would you?"

"Oh... Yes, of course." Jack moved away immediately, turning around - his first impulse to propriety as she completed her ablutions. But then, wondering when _she_ had suddenly become so shy, he glanced back just in time to see the purple bruise that had bloomed across her abdomen before it was wrapped in a thick embrace of white, Turkish cotton.

His chest tightened as he contemplated what he had seen. Imagined the force with which she had been struck, the desperate feeling as the air had been expelled from her lungs against her will. Had she been at all afraid? He was too scared to ask - it was not something he wished to dwell on. Yet, his skin had begun to creep with the desire to pulverize the flesh that had done this to her.

Seeking some semblance of control, he took a deep breath and moved back into the room, bracing himself against her mantlepiece. His eyes lit on her dressing table and, grateful for the respite from his spinning thoughts, he returned to the familiar business of inspecting.

Elaborate glass decanters vied for attention, each containing a potent elixir designed to entice, to inflame, perhaps to remember. Scent, he knew from experience, was a powerful trigger. A small silver box held a place of reverence in the center and Jack was sure that it contained a cherished length of blue ribbon. A note was propped up against the mirror. Child-like writing suggested its author was Phryne's cousin, Arthur.

Despite how he was feeling moments before, his heart warmed at the sight of her personal mementos. To an outsider it might have seemed odd to think of Phryne Fisher as sentimental but, he knew her better. It was not a privilege he ever wished to take for granted.

Amidst the other items, pots of cosmetics, silver hairbrushes and lacquer trays, was a newspaper clipping. He recognized it immediately. It was from _The Argus,_ \- the article detailing the arrests of George Sanderson and Sidney Fletcher.

But, it wasn't their words she had kept. It was the head shot they had run of the arresting officer.

Jack smiled wistfully, thinking for a moment that they could have gotten to this place sooner - if only he hadn't been so stubborn, so scared. Sensing her presence behind him, Jack was reminded that they were there _now._ He leaned against the mantle, stretching his left arm beneath the feet of the nude. A familiar repose in somewhat unfamiliar territory.

Her hair was still damp but it had been arranged into its usual style - excepting the fringe, which danced lower against her eyes with the extra weight of the water. She had donned a kimono of deep blue silk embroidered with delicate white cranes - a symbol of longevity, he remembered from somewhere and wondered idly if she had meant it to convey a message. Perhaps that was wishful thinking.

She approached him slowly, a mysterious smile on her lips. Her bare feet left a trail of damp footprints across the floorboards as she made her way to him, the silk fluttering just above her ankles. Her mood had obviously shifted - as if the combing of her hair had reset some inner dial. She reached out and fingered the navy blue fabric at his collar. "Very nice."

"I'm curious as to how Mr. Butler knows what size pyjamas I wear," he said, the corner of his lips lilting upward the way they always did when he feigned irritation at her or her household's antics.

Phryne simply shrugged her shoulders, "He's omnipotent." She had grown quite accustomed to Tobias Butler's magical abilities. "It's almost a shame you won't be wearing them for very long," she promised, mischief dancing in her eyes. Very nimbly for someone who wasn't using her dominant hand, she began to unbutton his top - until she failed to stifle a shuddering yawn.

He stilled her hand at once. "Phryne, you need to sleep."

"What I need..." This time it was almost farcical. She had no choice but to cover her mouth as her body forced huge gulps of air into her lungs.

"Boring you, then, am I?" he asked. His tone was sarcastic, but there was no hurt in it.

The warm water and epsom salts had relaxed her aching muscles and eased her pain and her body was longing for rest. "Perhaps you're right," she huffed, knowing he was but hating to admit defeat all the same. Especially given the sight of him in those pyjamas. Ah well, it _was_ late and she was certain the view would be even better in the morning light.

She lifted herself onto the bed, the kimono inadvertently spreading to reveal her legs, creamy white - except for an inflamed patch on her left thigh, an angry dark circle in the center.

He stared at the spot. Felt his blood boil once more at the thought of Gibbons laying his hands on her - the thought of Daisy lying in hospital with dozens of the same.

"Jack," she whispered, reading his shadows crossing his face.

She considered that this was hardly the first time he had known her to be injured. Poisoned by Foyle, ribs bruised courtesy of a former intelligence agent, electrified by a factory machine, even strangled by an otherwise charming radio broadcaster. And while Jack had cared for her then to be sure, this time it was different. She was known to him now. She had allowed him into her body, her heart.

Would he feel violated by the marks on her skin? Think he had tenancy rights that granted him jurisdiction over the inhabitance of her body? Believe his outrage outweighed the discretion of her own?

Phryne had to remind herself that this was Jack Robinson.

 _But he was also a man._ And Phryne was well acquainted with the lunacy of men, especially when it came to women.

"Jack. It's done. We saved her. Please... mine was a small price to pay." She held her breath as she watched him wrestle with his feelings.

After several long moments, she considered an alternative. She had always preferred action to brooding and hoped it would hold true for him, too.

"Would you mind helping me with that poultice? Mac's nurse trussed me up like a goose," she complained, holding up her bandaged hand. "I don't think I can tie it properly."

He cast his eyes back to her vanity in search of Mrs. Butler's fabled cure but, instead, lighted on a jar of salve.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Arnica. For the bruising... Leave it... I'll tend to it later."

His expression had given him away. He saw the flash of sadness in her eyes - disappointment - and knew they were at a crossroads. She didn't want his pity or need his indignation. He gazed along the length of her, took in the injuries she had sustained to ensure Daisy Travers' freedom.

For every mark Gibbons made on Phryne, he knew she had struck one of her own - sometimes two, according to her statement. With any luck, Gibbons would hang before his injuries even had a chance to fully heal. He thought about how brave she was, how determined in her need to right the wrongs, to protect the innocent - no matter the cost to herself. These were motives he understood all too well. He thought about how it would feel if their positions had been reversed. Would he have needed her outrage or her care?

And, for the first time in months, he thought about Rosie. How her constant fretting and complaining over his choice to remain in the field, rather than climb the safer and more profitable ladder, had driven them even further apart.

 _No._ He didn't want that for Phryne. He loved her as she was: infuriating and clever and stubborn and - god help him - _capable._

All of a sudden, Jack realized that he didn't care about revenge. He didn't care about Gibbons at all. He knew what he needed to do - for both their sakes.

"No. I want to... If it's alright?"

Phryne nodded her head almost imperceptibly and Jack moved toward her. "Get in," he instructed quietly, helping to lift her and scooping back the mounds of pillows and olive green satin so she could lie down properly. He placed her gently on the bed, deciding to ignore the uncertainty in her eyes for now - his intentions would be made clear soon enough.

There wasn't much he could do for her wrist - the nurse had tended it thoroughly. But, he felt he needed to acknowledge it all the same. As he brushed his lips to the gauze, he could almost hear the wood breaking against her, knowing the blow had fueled her anger and forced her to change tactics. Fortunately, the sound of Phryne's breath hitching brought him back to the present.

He untied the sash at her waist and parted the blue silk like water from her collarbone. Jack's eyes were dark as they roamed along the expanse of skin, his hands following as they slipped under the gown and caressed her sides, riding the rise and fall of her chest.

She couldn't tear her gaze from him, her heart beating fast as she watched and waited to see what he would do next. When leaned in and kissed her sternum, she let out a soft cry, her body tense with the contact.

Opening his mouth, he dotted featherlight kisses all over her stomach, gently lingering over her diaphragm where the hurt was most concentrated. The feeling was almost unbearable. Phryne sank back into the pillows and threw an arm over her face, squeezing her eyes tightly shut - relief and love and lust were flooding them in the form of burning tears.

Using the lightest possible touch, Jack spread the salve across her belly, gently working it into the skin, ensuring the bruise was covered in a protective layer. Producing a clean, silk camisole from where her own night clothes had been left hanging over the foot of the bed, he silently helped her into it, their eyes exchanging all the thoughts neither could currently form words around. He pressed a kiss to her navel before slipping the undergarment down over her torso.

By now, a thrum of gorgeous tension in her core had been added to the many sensations Phryne was experiencing. The forerunner, however, was the stroke of Jack's fingers up the inside of her calf - which her attention followed with eagerness. A luscious kiss to her right knee, and then her left. The brush of soft curls against her, causing her to grow restless.

He approached the place carefully, giving it a wide berth. A burn wasn't the same as a bruise. The poultice was applied and Phryne hissed at its initial sting but, the reprieve was almost instantaneous. She actually laughed as the concoction soothed her wound, the pain dissipating like air let from a balloon. "Amazing," she mumbled.

Jack tied the compress around her thigh, tucking in the ends so it wouldn't come loose while she slept. When he was satisfied that it was secure, he dropped a kiss to her hip. The heat of his mouth, so close to where she wanted it, forced a whimper of need to escape her. The sound ricocheted through him, lighting his nerves on fire.

He could have ignored it. It would not have been easy but, he could have simply held her and shushed her until she fell asleep. He could have. But, he didn't. It wasn't often but, Jack _had_ told her that he didn't always do the noble thing. Instead, he chose to dip down again and gently suck at the inside of her uninjured thigh. He was rewarded for his decision when she arched off the bed, a veritable moan now demanding more attention.

He moved from hip to hip, thigh to thigh, across her lower belly, nuzzling her. His lips caressed her until she was rocking in indulgent circles beneath him. And his desire to taste her again broke over him like a wave. He let the memory flood his system. It had been the first time he ever made love to a woman that way. An act of the utmost intimacy, he now understood. There was no room for doubt between lips and cunt. Now that he had experienced it, he would forever cherish it for the way it enveloped his senses in everything that was Phryne. For the way it caused her to sob his name and shudder with a pleasure so complete, he felt like a god among men.

He needed to have the slip of her swollen flesh under his tongue again, fill his lungs with her scent. There was no other word for it - he positively _craved_ her. Not wanting to deprive himself of the feeling of the soft skin of her thighs against his neck, the dig of her nails in his shoulders, the rasp of her heels at his back, he stripped off his nightclothes with admirable haste.

She sobbed when he finally lowered his mouth to her and he had to wrap his arms around her to gently keep her pressed to him.

His tongue slid over her, lapping at the evidence of her need, savoring the tastes and textures and treasures to be found. _Oh god, she was heaven on earth._

He took his time, moved slowly. Exploring to find the places that made her cry out and seize him tighter - changing his pressure, his approach - until she was trembling all around him.

"Please," she keened. The pleasure was sublime in its ruthlessness but, she was desperate for him to settle into a rhythm. Desperate to for him to finally bring her to release. Instead, he lathed his tongue over her - soft and wide and luxurious, but not nearly enough - just to hear her ask it again. When she found the words to oblige, he began relentlessly stroking her. Digging in to her weak spots - _ohgoddon'tstop_ \- with the tip of his tongue so she was moaning incoherently and bracing herself against his shoulders - all thoughts of injuries and murderers obliterated from her mind. One of his hands released her to move between them.

"Yes," she encouraged breathlessly and raised up to meet his fingers.

Phryne was enthralled at the sight of him, leaning over her, his head buried between her legs, while his wide shoulders supported them. She watched his forearm move with the push and pull of his elegant fingers inside her and fought to keep her eyes open as he increased the tempo. The curl of his fingertips, wrenching a moan from her throat. Such was the effect of her pleasure on Jack, she felt him shudder at the sound.

Suddenly, her hip was bereft of the warmth that had just been upon it, steadying her. Feeling deprived at its loss, she began to search for his offending hand. When she found it, her eyes grew wide and a streak of lust so powerful cleaved her two, wetness surging between her thighs.

He had released her hip in order to grip himself tightly, his fingers wrapped thickly along his length.

She struggled against the first flutters of her orgasm as they began to lick at her - the sight of him too erotic to relinquish. But he determinately sought her climax, even as he stroked himself, drawing grunts from his lips that vibrated against her.

It was all too much to bear and the thought of Jack's hands bringing them both to ecstasy sent her reeling. Lights burst in front of Phryne's eyes as her muscles contracted violently, setting off a series of orgasms that built like a crescendo, pulsing inward, until it she was convulsing deep inside her very core. Somewhere, outside herself, she heard Jack's muffled cry of release, the sound causing her to cry out as another tremor took hold.

She didn't know how long it had been before she had come back to herself. The first thing she noticed was the weight of his head, nestled into her shoulder, his breath softly puffing against her hairline. His arms were wound around her, cradling her from behind. The embrace felt protective and in that moment, she found that she didn't mind at all.

"Amazing," she mumbled for the second time that night and felt him smile, the curve of his lip sliding along her skin.

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I could just stop there, did you? No, I didn't think so.

"Phryne, let go. I need to get dressed!"

"Nonsense, Jack! Don't think you're off the hook that easily!"

She kissed him messily and dragged him back down on the bed, wincing at the throb of pain that shot through her wrist as she manhandled her lover.

"I think you need to take it easy. And I need to get back to my room before Miss Williams..." But his words were cut off by a groan, all coherency evaporating with the pass of her hand along his hip.

"I'm fine," she lied. In fact, her wrist _did_ smart and the burn on her thigh had begun to throb again. But Phyrne wasn't about to let a little discomfort stop her. Not when Jack Robinson was in her bed at long last.

"Besides," she argued as her hands continued to dance over him, the feel of his lithe frame beneath them too much to resist, "Dot already knows."

"What?" he asked in a pitch driven an octave higher by his surprise.

"She figured it out..." she explained, teasing kisses punctuating her words.

"Your bag... from the train... She helped Hugh with the manifests... I had... one too many..."

"You've taught her too well," he griped but, didn't refuse another kiss from her.

This one was soft, luxurious, and he felt himself dizzy - his whole body tingling as she mapped him slowly.

She had expected his hesitance - it was why she omitted the small matter of Dot's suspicions having been confirmed when she had caught them in the throes of a passionate kiss. Jack didn't need another excuse to censure himself further. He was still her Inspector after all, determined to follow his moral compass. And that very much included what he considered to be proper. But, what if the needle could be nudged in a different direction? Never one to back down from a challenge, Phryne pressed the issue.

"How long did you think we could keep it hidden, Inspector?" Her playful tone suddenly dropping to one that was intimate in its depth. "I fear Dot knows me too well. She is not as naive as you think. She would have recognized the symptoms..."

Her words were intentionally vague but she allowed him to search her eyes all the same, knowing he would find what she no longer had any desire to hide.

Jack brushed her hair back from the side of her face with his palm, unbelieving. Wondering what he had done to deserve this second chance at life, at love. For so many years, he had given up hope on ever feeling this way again. Not that he had ever felt _this_  for Rosie. But he would never deny that he had once loved his former wife.

Without permission, his mind rolled back to a time when he, himself, wore a constable's uniform, a lovely girl on his arm. Things were different then - before their dreams were torn apart, left in shreds by the war to wither under the weight of silence and resentment. They had been young, full of hope and determined to make a life for themselves.

"I fear Miss Williams has been your companion far too long, Miss Fisher. Naive, I daresay, is no longer an option." The smirk he was attempting to lighten his words died on his lips as he tried to express what he was feeling. "But this is far from the innocent behavior of young love."

"You're right, Jack," she agreed softly, fingertips tracing the faint scar on his forehead. "But we're neither young nor innocent. We've seen too much... Known too much... To waste another precious second for the sake of propriety."

She closed in on him slowly, bringing her lips within a fraction of an inch to his, nudging the tip of his nose with hers, begging the tension to mount. She could sense his struggle, feel his heart pounding in his chest, as she added to the delicious pressure by moulding her body against him.

"But, you can go if you wish," she entreated, breathing the words into his mouth only after she felt him begin to melt into her, knowing he would find it all the more difficult to leave her embrace.

She was met with a questioning look in his glazed eyes.

She brushed her knuckles against his cheek before reaching into his hair, turning his head so she could scrape her teeth lightly against the shell of his ear. "You can go," she told him again as he gasped, the heat of his hands encircling her waist, desperate fingertips pressing into small of her back.

It was an enterprise that she had long ago determined was worth every bit of trouble... Recalibrating Jack Robinson's limits. In this particular case, she had decided that the best strategy was to give him exactly what he thought he wanted, leaving him just enough room (and incentive) to change his mind.

"Dot will play along... Keep up appearances," she whispered in seductive tone that completely contradicted the argument she was feigning.

"We can continue the charade. Pretend that there is nothing between us..." she reasoned, knowing it was taking all of his will power to concentrate on her words as she sucked at the pulse point on his throat, the stifled sounds of his desire only spurring her on. "Act as though these feelings simply don't exist."

"We are, after all, both... skilled... on the stage." She waved the backs of her fingers lightly down his chest in mock interpretation of a feathered fan and thrilled at the sound of her name being uttered like a common curse.

"But," she said, suddenly in earnest. "If this were a case, Inspector, you would ask, _who stands to benefit?_ "

Despite the hormones currently flooding his veins, Jack considered her words thoughtfully. He might be besotted but, he wasn't a fool. And, _damn her!_ She had a point. What _did_ they stand to benefit from this secrecy? After several long minutes of contemplation, in which he tried to ignore her wicked mouth, he came up empty.

This was no longer about propriety or embarrassment. Though he still felt both of those things acutely - just not enough to keep him from Phryne's bed. Tongues wagged all across town but, it wouldn't be the first time he had been caught up in some controversy. Stepping out with a society lady, he realized, was really nothing to the shock waves he had made in the Victorian Constabulary after having exposed the Chief Commissioner of police for the disgrace that he was.

What was to be gained by his reticence? More importantly, what did he stand to lose?

Every reason he had ever invoked for keeping their relationship quiet felt suddenly flimsy when inspected from this new (very comfortable) perspective. Even if things didn't work out between them, he realized, fearing the potential fallout was not worth sacrificing the joy he felt when he was wrapped up in her arms like this.

Slipping his arm around her, he deftly rolled her on to her back and rose over her - taking immense care to avoid putting pressure on her injuries.

He looked her squarely in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Really?" she asked, an eyebrow arched in mock derision.

"Really," he answered, allowing a smirk to spread across his face as he watched her struggle to maintain a calm composure.

"Well then," she said in a business like tone, "I suppose we should set up some ground rules."

"That seems reasonable," he agreed, enjoying her game, and lowered himself toward her teasingly, stubbornly refusing to touch her. A feat made rather difficult by the way she ran her eyes down his body. She might as well have used a blowlamp, such was the heat in her gaze.

"Since we'll be seeing more of you, Inspector... _much more..._ you'll need a place for your things. But, I'm afraid my wardrobe is at capacity."

"No doubt," he said wryly, pondering the amount of time he had spent of late removing Phryne's considerable number of outfits.

She quirked her lips at him and continued, undeterred. "How did you find the guest room?" It was something she had been thinking about for a while. Well, fantasizing, really. Of Jack and clandestine visits.

"We could have it redecorated, of course... What do you think?""

It was meant to sound nonchalant - though the offer was anything but. It was obvious to the detective in him this was not a decision she had made rashly. Or perhaps he had simply come to recognize the slightest falter in her voice whenever she tried to brush off something of significance. Though, significant was a bit of an understatement. Phryne was giving him a place in her home. A permanent place.

"I think I could cope with that," he said, accepting her invitation with the same light air with which it had been extended but, using the same words he had uttered years before - after he realized he was a lost cause. Back then, he could not have imagined in his wildest dreams that they would be having this conversation. Now, he knew he wasn't the only one who had surrendered. Not to be outdone, he countered with his own terms.

"I'll have an extra key made for the flat. I wouldn't like to charge you on a break and enter."

She obviously hadn't been expecting that and Jack felt rather pleased with himself when her cool facade temporarily cracked in delighted surprise. He didn't dare tell her that he had already been to the locksmith before reporting for duty, the shiny new key tucked tidily in his billfold.

Quickly realizing she was losing her advantage, Phryne had no choice but to posit the only question left. "And what about the Station? What's the protocol, Inspector?"

He cleared his throat. It was a serious subject to his way of thinking and it was wise to set his aim a bit higher than the intended mark - seeing as how she would push the boundary on general principle. Though, he knew she would stop well short of any behavior that would truly threaten his career.

"I'll speak to the new Deputy Commissioner. Best to be up front about it," he explained, answering the way her eyes grew wide at his pronouncement. "Especially if you're going to consult on cases. The lads are worse than your high society types when it comes to gossip."

She smiled at that but his tone remained sober. "I don't want either of us to be compromised. Perhaps you could ask your solicitor to draw up something to protect you against any accusations of having a conflict of interest."

Phryne knew Jack to be a serious man but, even she was slightly taken aback by the amount of thought he had put into protecting her reputation well above his own. "Of course," she said quietly.

Jack nodded his approval, silently grateful that she took his point without fuss. "Then, things carry on. You'll march all over my crime scenes and I'll do my best to keep up." He couldn't help but smile as her hands wound around the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss. But he resisted, removing himself from her grasp, needing to lay down the law as he saw it just this once.

"Phryne, we might be together... ah... s-socially," he stammered, faltering slightly as her eyes dropped to his mouth. "But, work is work. We must continue to maintain a professional rapport... Well," he added on second thought, casting his eyes about as if to retract that somewhat ludicrous statement, "At least as much as we ever have."

"I see," Phryne said, matter-of-factly. "A _professional rapport_. Hmm," she hummed, pretending to consider this. "I imagine that might preclude all sorts of behavior." The sudden gleam in her eyes was making him very nervous.

"But I also seem to recall you sweeping all manner of questionable physical contact under the constabulary rug. _All part of the job_ , wasn't it Inspector?" she asked, reveling in the way his adam's apple was currently bobbing up and down in anticipation. "I believe this will require a hands-on indoctrination to your way of thinking."

"Phryne..." he pleaded, but her words cut across his protest.

"To avoid any embarrassing confusion, I mean. You know how quickly situations can escalate during a case, Jack," she cajoled, furrowing her brow and nodding her head so convincingly that he was almost fooled. Almost.

"It's completely unpredictable! I need to know how to react in heat of the moment. Or, rather, how _not_  to. So, just to be absolutely clear... I couldn't do _this_?" she asked innocently.

But, the hands that were slowly stroking down his sides told another story - her thumbs riding the grooves of his leanly muscled abdomen, veering only slightly off course to tease a patch of incredibly sensitive skin she had only recently discovered.

He wiggled very uncharacteristically and barely managed to channel the force of air bubbling up in his throat out through his nose instead. He glared at her sternly, unwilling to give her the advantage so easily. "I shouldn't think so," he growled, the warning only serving to encourage her.

"No. You're right. I wouldn't want anyone else to know your weak spots, Jack," she said, the sparkle in her voice almost as captivating as her touch.

"Everyone already suspects my weakness is you, Miss Fisher."

She practically beamed at him. "Your proficiency in pursuing the modern woman is a strength, Jack, not a weakness. What about _this_?" she inquired as she pushed herself up up onto her elbow, snaking her other arm around to fondle the base of his spine... then lower, before latching her lips to his tremoring throat.

His body had begun to tremble with the tension she was creating but, Jack was determined not to break - he was enjoying himself too much. "I daresay that sort of behavior would be considered highly inappropriate," he rasped.

"Mmm. What a _shame,_ " she teased, unable to keep her body still as her own desire mounted. "Then, I suppose _this_ would be right out."

He lost his breath as she gently cupped him.

And then, he lost his mind when she grasped him the way she had seen him do it the night before, palming him in a tight embrace - a curse falling from his lips when she smoothed her thumb across him for good measure.

It took several moments for Jack to come back to his senses. But when he did, he fought back with aplomb, using his body to gently pin her devious hand between them and launching himself at her neck, the breath catching in his mouth with a **snarl!** as he bit down on her in exuberant revenge.

The sudden attack came as a surprise after his feigned stoicism but, his playfulness delighted her such that she couldn't help but let loose a full belly laugh - which quickly became contagious.

Their mutual grins melted into scintillating kisses, as she enthusiastically reminded him of just exactly who was the usual victor of her games. She supposed - as he tapped his fingers against her (in the same rhythm he had used on her bedroom door - _damn him!_ ) - that, just this once, she would settle for a draw.

 

XXXXXX

 

Dorothy had awoken early the next morning. Hugh had assured her that Miss Fisher was alright but, she needed to see for herself. She encountered Mr. Butler in the kitchen as she went to put together the breakfast tray.

"I don't want to alarm you, Dorothy but... Miss Fisher has company," the man said with a wink.

"Constabulary company?" Dot asked, already knowing the answer.

"The same."

Dorothy smiled widely and her expression was mirrored in Mr. Butler's face. Her beau had told her that he had feared the detectives were at odds again but, she knew better. As much as she would have loved to set the record straight, Dot felt too much loyalty to Miss Fisher to betray the secret. It was not her place. And, besides, he would find out soon enough. With the promise of Mr. Butler's biscuits and a cup of Dot's English Breakfast, Hugh was too regular a fixture in the Fisher household not to notice the Inspector's presence at an hour far earlier than propriety would allow. Well, without a dead body on the premises.

The Inspector would be part of the family at long last she thought, cheerfully adding a second china cup to the gleaming silver tray.

Her smile had not faded as she began to climb the stairs, she was thinking of her Miss's happiness - and her own. Her Constable had taken her involvement in the trainyard search in stride, a silent agreement struck between them as the search teams had assembled. She knew Hugh didn't exactly understand her motives but, he persevered - doing his best to work out the 'paradox,' as he had put it - and she loved him all the more for it.

The sound of muffled voices stopped her in her tracks.

This certainly wasn't the first time she had encountered a man in Miss Fisher's boudoir. But, the gentleman callers were not generally known to Dot - and certainly not with as much familiarity as the Detective Inspector. Perhaps it was easier to serve strangers tea and usher them down to breakfast, knowing she would never lay eyes on them again.

She calmed herself, remembering her conversation with Miss Phryne. Dot was sure The Honourable Miss Fisher would have quite enough to be getting on with when it came to sidestepping the condemnations of society's higher circles. She didn't want her to feel as though she had to tiptoe around her own staff as well. No, that would not do at all.

Throwing back her shoulders, Dorothy resolved that she would not be the one to make things more awkward for the new couple by imposing a change in the morning routine. Her hand was outstretched, reaching for the doorknob when she heard it - and froze for a second time.

Of all the noises that had reached her ears from her mistress's bedroom - the moans and groans and shrill keens that always set Dot's ears on fire - she could not ever recall this particular sound being among them.

It was laughter.

Dot's face broke into a sheepish grin as ripples of delight ebbed into the hall, the dust motes seemingly dancing in their midst. She couldn't help but think that if she were in her Miss's place, a cup of tea would be the last thing on her mind right now. Perhaps breakfast could wait.

Miss Fisher's shimmering tones of mirth were then joined by another set. Bursts of chortles in the deep, rumbling register of none other than Inspector Robinson. Dottie suddenly felt as though she had intruded on something far more intimate than if she had interrupted them... ah... _What was Miss Phryne's word for it? It sounded Mexican._ Oh, yes! _Inflagrante._

When an abrupt return to honeyed tones by the room's occupants caused the familiar flush to creep up her neck, she backed away from the door. Perhaps Miss Fisher wouldn't mind a break in the routine just this once. By the time she reached the landing - not yet far enough away to miss the strangled sound of her employer invoking the policeman's christian name (with decidedly unchristian vigor) - Dot had resolved that, yes, the tea could definitely wait.

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast in St. Kilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! After months of wondering where new chapters are, it seems everyone is finally ready for AMIN to end, LOL! Well... Everyone but me, apparently! I'm like the kid in art class who doesn't know when to put down the brush.
> 
> There's definitely one more chapter in store that I'm hoping to write and post before the premiere of our beloved MFMM, Season 3.
> 
> I just want to say THANK YOU to all of you lovely readers. And, especially to those who have taken the time to comment. You guys are just the best!! Truly - it makes my whole heart smile. I'm reading each and every one of your comments but, I fear that if I stop writing the fic, I'll end up in another black hole. But, I will come back and address each one. Cheers! ~CG
> 
> **********************************

The paper rustled as a large hand peeked out from behind to comically grasp for a small porcelain handle. It disappeared back behind the screen of newsprint until the cup was deposited back onto the saucer, its contents drained.

Jack couldn't help feeling a bit awkward, sitting in Phryne's dining room on his own - even though Mr. Butler had handled the situation with the greatest of tact, providing him with the morning's news and a freshly made cup of tea while he politely waited for the lady of the house to join him.

"I shouldn't go down in this state. You go on ahead," she had coaxed, after he had managed to dress in his immaculately attended suit. He had been knotting yesterday's tie somewhat haphazardly, his hands still shaking from their latest encounter. She had insisted on accompanying him to _his_  room under the guise of soliciting his particular opinion on the softness of the newly purchased mattress.

As much as he hadn't wanted to face heading downstairs on his own, she was right. She couldn't go down like that. Not for his sake, anyway. While Jack was certain that Phryne's staff had seen her 'the morning after' on plenty of occasions (he was trying hard not to think about that too much), he knew he would not be able to look at her in front of Mr. Butler and Miss Williams without blushing. Not if she had remained in that dressing gown - all slippery, gossamer apricot - her hair mussed, the flush of passion still evident across her décolletage. It was one thing to wake up with her in the privacy of his flat - where he didn't have to disguise the fact that his desire for her was not sated by something as trivial as the appearance of the sun. It was another thing entirely for it to be on full display in front of her household, where he imagined himself feeling a bit like an animal at the zoo.

He pretended to read the weather forecast while he imagined all the ways Miss Fisher's extended family might react to the change in their, ah, circumstances. Miss Williams would accept it gracefully - even happily, according to Phryne. But due to the young woman's station and intimacy with her mistress, she would inevitably be privy to situations he would prefer to not have relayed to Collins. If he didn't already know her to be one of the most trustworthy people he had ever met, he might be more concerned.

Mr. Butler kept his own counsel and was the very epitome of discretion. Any discomfit Jack felt in front of the man would be entirely his _own_   doing. Not to mention, the detective in him could now hardly hold Mr. Butler faultless in bringing he and Phryne together. No, he wasn't worried on that accord. Mrs. Stanley would prove an interesting case. If her comment last night was any indication, she would hardly be surprised. Still, she could be a forbidding woman at times. He knew he had her respect. All the same, he couldn't help wondering if she would frown upon his social station.

But even the thought of having to declare his intentions to his lover's aunt seemed a pittance when compared to the grilling he was sure to get from Jane - once she returned from school. The girl was sharp as a tack and, like her foster mother, didn't miss much. He could feel the colouring rise in his cheeks just thinking about the sorts of questions she might put to him - whether out of her need to protect Phryne or sheer curiosity. The natural sweetness that had blossomed under the tending of her new family would take a backseat to the instincts that had been honed by her rough start in life. And, no doubt, she would be egged on by the two red-raggers. Even though their mutual respect had grown by leaps and bounds over the last months, Jack didn't think they had gone beyond the point of Albert Johnson denying himself the pleasure watching someone from the establishment squirm for a change.

The recognizable klip-klop of heels down the stairs temporarily relaxed the worry lines on his brow. He folded _The Argus_ and stood to give his breakfast companion his full attention. She was dressed in a cream colored blouse with butterfly sleeves and a long cream skirt, anchored by an ornate golden belt fob that he recognized instantly. A slim watch glimmered at her left wrist. She was favouring her left leg a bit, he noticed, but surmised it had more to do with a fresh poultice having been applied than pain because her face was open and at ease. She had applied her powders and her hair was smoothed, ornate gold earrings dangling beneath its length.

Only her red lipstick was notably absent. But rather than detracting from her allure, he found it had quite the opposite effect. Knowing Phryne as he did, she was probably well aware of this. The lack of rouge was not unlike an undone collar - both bits of armour shed only in the presence of privileged company.

She regarded him in kind as he got to his feet. His tie was still abysmally crooked but it only served to increase his boyish appeal. She found herself cataloging his movements - a habit she had picked up early on in their unorthodox partnership, when she was still trying to discern the kind of man he was. Now, she did it mostly for the pure enjoyment: How he touched the pads of his fingers to the table before he stood. The blunt way his body moved, finding assurance in the prescribed etiquette.

His eyes were busily inspecting her but she gleaned a hint of uncertainty, as he read her for cues on how, exactly, to proceed.

"Good morning," he said. His tone was warm, but formal. His body betraying him by attempting to move toward her and stay perfectly still at exactly the same time.

"Jack," she said, effortlessly capturing his gaze, "There is no need to stand on ceremony." To prove her point, she gently placed her hand on his forearm and leaned in to kiss the corner of his jaw - even as Mr. Butler entered the room bearing a steaming pot of tea and a silver domed tray.

The Inspector cleared his throat self-consciously as her lips found his skin. But despite his former reservations, he felt the tension in his spine dissipate almost at once... confirming a curious reality. The truth was, he did not want to refrain from taking her hand or kissing her cheek for propriety's sake. Especially here in her home, where so much of their partnership had crystallized. In fact, he suddenly felt little desire to withhold his affection from her at all.

Not that he would admit it. There was too much fun to be had in playing coy. "On the contrary, Miss Fisher. I might forget myself."

"Is that a promise?" she teased, taking her seat to his left.

Jack narrowed his eyes and allowed a smirk to play about his lips, rewarding her riposte with amused censure. "As good as one," he muttered.

Tobias looked upon them fondly. He couldn't explain it but he felt a kinship with Inspector Robinson. Protective, even - probably due to the fact that he was nearly old enough to be the man's father. Both were self-made men, choosing lives of service as their profession and rising to the top of their game. Both had served in the Great War and lived to tell about it - though it was rare that either did. Both had married and suffered heavy losses.

Maybe it had to do with the _spinster_  who had embraced them and made them part of her self-appointed family. Rekindling their zeal for life and giving them a place to call home again. And while each had their own compass to follow, she had become their true north.

After losing the love of his life, Mr. Butler had spent most of his time alone - throwing himself into his work. He had been proud of his achievements but it had felt hollow without someone to share it with. He did not wish the same fate to befall the Detective Inspector. But when he observed the way the policeman was currently looking at Miss Fisher, he realized that he had very little to worry about.

"Good morning, Miss," he greeted, plating her breakfast first.

"Morning!" she chirped. "Thank you, Mr. B. That smells heavenly."

Mr. Butler returned her smile in appreciation before serving the Inspector, who thanked him in kind. He was glad to see that the man's demeanor had relaxed since he had first seated him. With long-practised precision, Tobias poured their tea and laid the table with racks of toast and accoutrement.

He had turned to leave them to their privacy when he remembered to pull a note from his jacket pocket, handing it to Miss Fisher. "From Doctor MacMillan. Good news, apparently."

There was still much to do to wrap up the case and the two detectives quickly fell into a rhythm, discussing the day's plans and trading tactics over their shirred eggs, complete with cream and tarragon - Mr. Butler obviously catering to the Inspector's well-established appreciation of gratins.

 

XXXXXX

 

While Mac had left word that Daisy Travers' condition was stable, there was never any question of their first order of business. Both needed to see her for themselves. There was also the matter of having to take the young woman's official statement. But Jack hoped that it would be less harrowing for Miss Travers with Phryne standing by her.

In fact, he was rather counting on it.

The Detective Inspector had spent far too many nights attempting to distract himself from Miss Fisher's _other_ admirable qualities by considering the vast reserves of strength that she possessed in spades. Even more remarkable was her ability to impart that strength to the people around her.

It was uncannily predictable - as if it happened on a molecular level. Jack had studied enough science to know that the idea was pure rubbish and yet, there was a certain beauty in it. Since hatching, the thought would often swim to the surface of his mind.

If one needed evidence, he needed to look no farther than Miss Williams, Jane or Collins - all prime examples. But so were Rose and Mary. Hell, even Lachlan Pepper wasn't immune. And, of course, neither was he.

Without realizing it, Jack had reached out and laid his hand over hers - the unfamiliar roughness of the gauze covering her wrist finally calling his attention to the gesture. Maybe it was an acknowledgment of her incredible gift. Maybe it was a foolhardy attempt to imbibe her damaged flesh with the strength of his own. Maybe it was simply that he couldn't bear not to touch her for another moment.

She paused to take in the image of his thick-knuckled hand before meeting his gaze. His irises were not the darkened grey of desire that she had expected to find but rather, deep pools of blue reflecting a tender softness, illuminated by a spark of daring. It took all of Phryne's considerable will power to battle down the urge to climb over the burled wood and take him right then and there...

Fortunately, she was saved from the trouble of scandalizing her staff by the very appearance of one of them, the knock on the door jamb jerking her from her reverie.

"Excuse me Miss, Inspector. Good morning..." Dorothy announced, her voice a little louder than she had intended.

Phryne had expected to sense a struggle under Jack's skin. Despite his bravado in the privacy of her boudoir, she thought a blatant display of his affection in front her household would be a sticking point for her buttoned up Inspector.

Her eyes silently gave him permission to withdraw. But the subtle pressure of his thumb told her that, for once, she had gotten it dead wrong.

"Good morning, Miss Williams."  
"Good morning, Dot!"

The two voices collided in their greeting, reminding Dot vividly of what she had nearly interrupted earlier that morning. This was going to take some getting used to, she realized, as she gathered herself.

"I have a message," she began awkwardly.

"Are you always this popular, Miss Fisher?" Jack asked, inclining his head toward his lover before checking his watch. "It's barely half nine."

Phryne didn't need to look at him to know that he was smirking in that way that made her want to kiss the lips right off his face. Given her feelings just before Dot had entered the room, she thought it best to cut to the chase before her urges ran away with her.

"Thank you, Dot," Phryne said and waited expectantly.

"Oh. Yes, Miss. It's for the Inspector," Dot clarified.

The detectives exchanged a look.

"It's from Hugh." It sounded like a question.

Phryne couldn't be bothered to hide her amusement as Jack released her hand to wipe his brow. He was obviously unnerved at the idea that his Constable had known where to find him at this hour.

"Hugh has been here looking for the Inspector?" Phryne inquired, her voice tittering.

"No. Well, yes... I mean, no. He only stopped by for tea," Dot protested, her eyes growing wide at what her Miss was suggesting. "Hugh doesn't suspect..." But, she had made the mistake of looking at the Inspector, whose mouth was gaping. "I mean...Not that there's anything _to_ suspect..." she sputtered, pressing her own hand to her forehead in vexation. This wasn't going at all like she had planned.

While she was having more fun than should be allowed at the expense of her two companions, Phryne couldn't help but take pity on the young woman. "Dot, Jack already knows that I couldn't keep our secret from you."

"Oh!" Dot breathed in relief. She cleared her throat and tried again. "It's just that Hugh couldn't reach the Inspector at his flat so, um, he thought perhaps you might have had an early appointment."

"We did," Phryne added cheekily, as much to Jack's consternation as Dot's.

Dot averted her eyes and tried very hard not to blush. Jack was far less successful. "Yes...Ah... Well... I'm sure he was thinking along the lines of the morgue... or hospital," she said, twisting the light pink stone upon her finger. "Hugh has no idea you're here, Inspector. I only said I would pass on the message."

"It's alright," Phryne soothed, seating her at the table before fishing a cup from the sideboard and pouring her tea. Dot wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain and exhaled deeply.

Miss Fisher waited for Dot to finish her cuppa before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Thank you, Dot," she said earnestly. "I know you were protecting my privacy - and Inspector Robinson's," she acknowledged.

Dot nodded, her lips pulled into a small line of assent. It was her duty to keep her mistress's private matters just that - private. But, it was more than that. She felt as if she were protecting something precious, like a mother bird defending her eggs. When she looked up, she found her fondness mutually returned by both detectives, though the Inspector still seemed a bit ruffled. She was somewhat consoled by this - at least she wasn't the only one prone to embarrassment from Miss Fisher's teasing.

"Everything will be out in the open very soon," Phryne reassured her. "So, while we will continue to count on your _discretion,_ we will not require your _deception._ "

"Of course. Thank you, Miss."

"Well," Phryne interjected after reconsidering her words, "Not unless it's related to a case!"

At this, Dorothy giggled, "Yes, Miss." She was well used to the kinds of deceptions her job required of her and had come to accept them - even enjoy some of them (though she prayed a lot about that). But, lying to her fiancé was not something she wished to do on the regular.

She moved to leave when Inspector Robinson reminded her, "Miss Williams? The message?"

"Oh!" Dot felt rather silly but found no judgment in the man's expression. "Mr. Gibbons was declared fit to be moved. They need your signature on the paperwork."

He nodded kindly and thanked her, adding - only after she had turned her back to them, "I understand Sergeant Scott was more than a little impressed with you, Miss Williams."

This time, when Dottie blushed, it was with pride.

As much as Jack would have preferred to return to the mallow-tinted sanctuary of Phryne's bedroom - and exact the promises her fingers were currently making by inching up his thigh - there was too much work to do. He wasn't looking forward to laying eyes on this particular assailant again but, he needed arrange for Gibbons' transport to the gaol. And while the physical evidence was incriminating, it was mostly circumstantial - it would be up to him to extract a confession. But he had an idea of just how to do that. After all, Miss Fisher didn't have a monopoly on pushing people's buttons.

Confident in his plan, he snagged the last piece of toast and slathered it in marmalade before taking a defiant bite.

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We catch up with our intrepid detectives a few months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I can't believe this story is finally at a close.
> 
> When I first began writing it, I had no idea of the ride I was in for - nearly a year in the making. Even in the toughest times when I sat blankly in front of an empty screen, doubting myself, unable to find the words, the amazing worlds of MFMM and its fandom kept me going. 
> 
> Thank you all for taking this journey with me. Thank you for reading. And thank you for all the comments and kudos that kept me fighting to finish! I hope you enjoyed this fic half as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> With Season 3 upon us, I wish you all a glorious season of Phryne and Jack! And Hugh, of course. With plenty of Dot and Mac and Mr. Butler for good measure.
> 
> ***********************************

TEN WEEKS LATER

 

As she rode the tram to Lygon Street, Daisy rubbed her leg absentmindedly with a cotton-gloved hand. She had gotten past the worst of it with the help of Miss Fisher and her friend, the doctor called Mac - whose hair made her own pale in comparison. And the Inspector, of course, who was as good as his word - ensuring Russell Gibbons sat in a dank cell for the rest of his life, waiting for his turn in the noose.

Most of the burns had healed completely but, a few still itched. That was partly the reason she enjoyed her typing classes so much - it took her mind off the skin-prickling sensation as her fingers gamboled over the keys. The other part, as it turned out, was due to the fact that she was something of a natural. She thought on this with satisfaction, her latest examination folded neatly in her crocheted net bag.

The Trades Hall came into view. She could hardly believe that _this_ was where she worked now. It was only to be small assignments and errands at first, straightening up the office and making tea, delivering pages to the printers. But her employer had told her it could grow into something more if she was willing to put in the effort. She was. Her new boss was demanding but there was a softer side, a patience, that belied the sternness and Daisy liked her immensely. She also suspected that Miss Fisher spoke from experience when she had advised her to listen and learn from the woman.

The door snapped shut behind her. "Is that you, Miss Travers?" a throaty voice called out from the large office.

"Yes, Miss Charlesworth!" she called back.

The stately woman appeared in the doorway, dressed in a maroon wool skirt and a light grey blouse with the sleeves rolled up, a brooch pinned at the collar. Georgina Charlesworth approached Daisy and held out an expectant hand. Daisy fished the paper from her bag and handed it over, watching with bated breath as her work was surveyed by exacting eyes.

"Very good. Was yours the fastest time?"

"Second fastest," Daisy replied, somewhat uncharitably. "But, 'ers had a mistake."

"I'll take quality over quantity, Miss Travers," Miss Charlesworth replied with a small wink. "Instead of fetching everyone's lunch today, perhaps you could type up the latest _Artemis_ column for the printer? I do appreciate our new agony aunt's sensitivity but, she only writes in longhand."

Daisy followed the editor's eyes to a manila folder sitting on the corner of a nearby desk, happy to prove herself worthy of the task.

With a satisfied nod, Georgina returned to her office. Soon, the air was peppered with the distant clicking of typewriter keys and she smiled to herself. It had been a rocky road since the desperate acts of Mrs. Greenthumbs, aka Giovanni Campana - taking every ounce of her considerable strength to rebuild _Women's Choice_. Its circulation was increasing thanks to the new household budgeting section that touched on everything from second-day recipes to updating an outdated frock - not to mention a new serial writer who preferred nymphs to faeries.

When Phryne Fisher had called to invite her to lunch, Miss Charlesworth thought there might have been more on her former pupil's mind than just congratulations. The true motive was finally revealed when Phryne had asked if _Women's Choice_ needed an errand girl.

"You believed in me," Phryne had told her. "And I believe in Daisy." Acting as Daisy's benefactor, Miss Fisher had even offered to pay the girl's wages in addition to funding her coursework. But once the situation had been explained, it was out of the question. This was not merely about a favor. This was about changing a life.

The satisfaction derived from being a teacher had never truly left Georgina - even though she had left the profession to pursue other aims. She had always believed that the articles she ran would inspire young women to demand more for themselves but, there was something about having a hand in it directly that was both awe-inspiring and deeply humbling.

After spending the last few weeks watching the girl, Miss Charlesworth understood what Phryne had seen in her. Daisy was sharp, tenacious and, above all, wanted to learn. She had a bright future ahead of her. A second chance. Thanks to a clever, grubby little girl who got to stay in school... now, all grown up.

  

XXXXXX

 

 _Grubby_ was quite possibly the last adjective Collins would have used to describe the woman who had just swept into the Station looking, for all intents and purposes, like it was the venue of the next King's Ball.

"Is he back?" she demanded.

The first thing he noticed was the diamond fascinator that was pinned to her dark hair, followed by the long dangling earrings of the same stones. The reflections seemed to arc around her as if she were a live wire. He supposed that was an apt description, considering the mutinous look in her eyes. She wore a filmy green gown, so dark it was almost black, with clusters of tiny jet beads creating a shadowy luminescence that peeked out from beneath her cascading silver cape.

"Ah, no Miss. Not yet."

Phryne huffed, pushing past the gate to see for herself that the Inspector's office was dark and unoccupied. The view of his wide expanse of desk provided her with a fleeting thrill, what, having been perched on it only this morning as the pieces had fallen into place yet again. They had just wrapped their latest case, a rather gruesome killing of a handsome young seminarian. The priest's confession that the man had been an agent of the devil himself - placed in his flock to torment him - had made Phryne's blood run cold.

Admittedly, she had left Jack to deal with the worst of it - overseeing the murderer's transfer from the cells of City South to the psychiatric division of the City Gaol. In retrospect, it might have been a shrewder choice to accompany him. It would have been an excellent excuse to get her out of her pressing engagement.

"The Inspector said that if he was detained, you should go ahead without him, Miss," Hugh told her nervously. He was trying not to look directly at her as though she were the sun and capable of blinding him with her withering gaze.

"Hugh," she began in a sweet voice.

"Yes?" he asked hopefully, completely missing the dangerous implication in the hope of a reprieve.

"I appreciate you passing along the Inspector's suggestion..."

Collins smiled gratefully, "No problem, Miss. Happy to help."

"Now I need _you_ to deliver a message for _me_ ," she continued, approaching the counter like a cat stalking its prey. "Will you do that?"

"Ah, I, uh, think it depends on the message." He was beginning to feel the nerves creep back now, and wiped his sweaty palms on the bodice of his tunic under what he hoped was the guise of smoothing out the wrinkles.

"You tell Jack Robinson that if he thinks he's getting out of Aunt Prudence's dinner party simply because he's spent all day pursuing a homicidal maniac, he is _sorely_ mistaken. If _I_ have to go, _he_ has to go!"

"Y-yes, Miss!" Hugh stuttered, as he watched her turn on a shiny heel.

Hugh breathed a sigh of relief when the heavy door fell shut and the station was suddenly quiet again. He could still remember when he had thought that the awkwardness he felt whenever he caught the two detectives in a private moment would give way. He was still waiting. But, he couldn't deny that he was happy for them.

He thought of the day some weeks ago when Inspector Robinson, in a constricted voice, had called him into his office and shut the door.

 

...

Hugh's first thought had been that he was in for a reprimand - even though he couldn't think what he had done to make his boss look like he might be sick.

The last thing he had expected was for the Inspector to invite him to sit down and pour a splash of whiskey into each of two glasses, taking the seat beside him.

"Collins," the Inspector had begun, coughing as the words had caught in his throat. Hugh had watched silently as the man lifted his glass and swiftly drained the contents. "There's going to be some talk 'round the Station concerning Miss Fisher and myself."

"You mean, more than usual Sir?"

He had immediately regretted saying the first words that came to mind but, the Inspector had seemed to take no offense. Instead, Inspector Robinson had simply smiled resignedly at the naked truth of the situation.

"I'm afraid so. But, I wanted you to hear it from me. Set the record straight."

Hugh had picked up his own glass and looked down into the swirling liquid, averting his glance. He remembered feeling both flattered and slightly abashed at the same time. 

Of course, he had already heard the latest - that the pair of detectives were embroiled in a love affair. It wasn't the first time a story this fanciful had circulated. It had come and gone over the years many times as his colleagues struggled to make sense of the unusual pairing. But as often as Hugh had witnessed exchanges between the two, he was not inclined to believe the rumours this time either - especially after that night at the hospital, when the Inspector had looked as if he were fit to blow a gasket.

"Thank you, Sir," he had replied, not really knowing what else to say. He had hoped the Inspector was not about to push him for details. Was that the reason for the whiskey? He could feel his ears grow red at some of the questions that had already been asked of him by the more boorish of the lot. He had hazarded a glance back at the grave face of his opposite.

"I don't believe a word of it, Sir," he had said in a conclusive tone. "It's just idle chatter."

"Not exactly, Collins."

Gobsmacked, Hugh's mouth had fallen open at the admission. "So, it's true? That you and Miss Fisher are...uh... Stepping out together?"

The DI had nodded, "I suppose that's one way of putting it," he had told him, cutting his eyes with a tilt of his head in his usual self-deprecating way. "Because your betrothed is a member of Miss Fisher's household, Collins, you may be inadvertently privy to situations of a... ah… rather  _personal_ nature."

"Sir?"

Hugh had not been entirely certain what the Inspector was getting at but then, the man swallowed with some difficulty and pressed on, "The lads may try to put you in a corner. Perhaps thinking you might be persuaded to divulge your, uh, insight..."

But, the Constable cut him off before he could finish.

Sitting there, staring into the face of his mentor, Hugh had realized just how much he owed the man. Not only for his career advancement but, for his very happiness. He admired Jack Robinson, wanted to be like him - the best Detective Inspector in all of Victoria. But it was more than that. Without a father in his life, he had come to rely on the Inspector - if somewhat unfairly - to help fill the sizable hole that had been left.

And while the DI sometimes found humor in his naivety, the man had never once poked fun at his feelings for Dot. Not when it had been Dot who had to do the inviting to the Fireman and Policeman's Ball. Not when he had been searching for the right words to propose. Not even when he had been on the verge of tears, his fiancé's ring returned to the palm of his hand. It was because of the _Inspector_ that he had managed to find his way past his old-fashioned sensibilities, to a future that still included Dottie Williams.

No, Inspector Robinson understood love - and, this was his second chance. Hugh Collins would be damned if he would allow anyone to ruin that.

Collins' spine had straightened with resolution, his expression one of the utmost respect. "Don't worry, Sir. The only thing they'll hear from me is that you're two of the finest people I've ever met."

After a long moment of awkward silence in which the two men had stared at each other with new layers of understanding and appreciation, Inspector Robinson had extended his right hand, "Thank you, Hugh," he had croaked, the lump in his throat making difficult to speak.

Deeply moved, Collins had shaken it solemnly. Adding, with a boyish grin that broke the tension, "And anyone who's got something contrary to say can meet me down in the clubroom boxing ring to discuss it."

The Inspector couldn't help but smile at his constable's unwavering loyalty. "That won't be necessary, Collins," he said, placing his other hand earnestly on the younger man's shoulder. "But, I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

Hugh had wished the moment could have lasted but it wasn't long before Inspector Robinson returned to his usual business-like demeanor.

"Now, back to work."

 ...

 

Since then, Hugh had indeed encountered his superior in a number of _personal_ situations. But the two men managed to carry on with as much dignity as could be expected - which meant they mostly tried not to think about it. Whenever he got too flummoxed, he turned to the one person to whom he could tell anything. Dot would usually relieve his consternation with a few wise words, some cocoa and kisses that made his stomach flutter.

Hugh had returned to tidying up the front desk, lost in happy thoughts when the station door opened once more.

Inspector Robinson trudged in, looking surprised to find he was not alone. "Still here, Collins?"

"Just leaving. Ah...Sir?"

He was met with a wary glance.

"Miss Fisher said that you're still expected at Mrs. Stanley's."

"Even more frightening than a trip to the gaol," the Inspector replied sarcastically, though a faint smile played on his lips. "Thank you, Collins. Good night."

"Night, Sir."

Hugh took off on his bicycle, grateful beyond measure that his evening plans with Dottie involved neither tedious dinner parties nor overbearing aunts.

 

XXXXXX

 

Her lips curled in satisfaction as she read the note that had been surreptitiously slipped beside her place setting. She tucked it into her bag and politely excused herself from the table. Mary's soup had, indeed, come up to scratch. But as delicious as it was, a far more mouth watering option apparently awaited her in her Aunt's billiard room.

He should be cross, he thought. Not about being left to wrap up the less glamourous elements of their cases - no, he didn't mind that. He should want to grouse about the late hour. About tuxedos and uncomfortable shoes. In years past, he would have wished for nothing more than a comfortable chair and an ample measure of whiskey after a day like today. Of course, a good many things had changed since then.

Jack picked up the cue ball and weighed it in his hands, measuring far more than its crude matter.

Despite what he thought he should be feeling, he could not bring himself to resent the heavily starched shirt he had been obliged to don, nor the hours of polite socializing that were required of him this evening. Not after Mrs. Stanley had _insisted_ that he attend. She had been far more gracious than he had expected and he had been quite touched by the inclusion. In truth, Jack was relieved - not that he chose to share that particular sentiment with Phryne. He didn't want her to think that he needed the blessing of her closest relative - and he supposed he didn't. But it certainly made things easier.

"Jack," she greeted, keeping her voice down so as not to attract the attention of a houseful of guests and staff.

He turned abruptly and the billiard ball he had been holding landed on the felt with a thud. His throat constricted at the sight of her in the midnight green gown, her skin glowing in contrast. As she approached, he noticed how the shade seemed to enhance the crystal blue of her eyes. Already, he felt the pangs of deprivation begin to thrum under his skin - knowing it would be hours before they could truly be alone together. In the meantime, the notes of her perfume and the timbre of her hushed tones would slowly and inexorably drive him mad.

"Thank you," she breathed in response to his unspoken compliment. "You look rather handsome yourself... A good thing, considering how dreadfully late you are," she accused, schooling her mouth into a gorgeous pout. "We've nearly done the second course."

"Funnily enough, the criminal justice system doesn't take your Aunt's social calendar into account, Miss Fisher," he replied smoothly, thrusting his hands into his pockets in penitence for what they so desperately wanted to do.

She returned his smirk and fussed unnecessarily with his bowtie - a maneuver that she knew drove them both to distraction, though she was helpless to resist. "You know I deeply admire your sense of _duty_ , Inspector. It's one of your finest qualities."

"Is that why you felt the need to have my constable harangue me about my presence here tonight?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. But as Phryne lifted her gaze to meet his and tossed a careless shoulder into the air, he could see that she felt no compunction for commandeering his charge as her own yet again.

Nor was she inclined to admit that she was actually worried Jack might not turn up. "Not at all. Your thoroughly dogged determination to follow through is well-substantiated. I just thought you could do with a gentle reminder."

"An opportunity to see you in a dress like this hardly requires reminding," he reassured her, bracing himself against the billiard table. "But I wish you wouldn't put Hugh in that position."

"What position would you _like_ me to put him in, Jack?" she teased, eyes sparkling with mischief as her index finger followed the line of his placket down his chest.

"That's not funny, Phry-"

Phryne opted to swallow his objection, sealing his mouth with her own.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she vaguely considered the consequences. Aunt Prudence had been incredibly civil with regard to Jack thus far but, she thought the woman's graciousness might meet its limit if they were to embarrass her by being found like this. The rules of propriety were alive and well at the Stanley residence - at least when Guy and Isabella weren't home.

But the pull to kiss him had been building relentlessly all day and, finally, they had a moment alone. Patience wasn't exactly her middle name. Wasting no time for delicacy, she deepened the kiss and snaked a hand inside his jacket.

She could feel him shaking with discipline, trying not to muss her. Ever the gentleman, Jack Robinson was well aware of what it would look like if she returned to the dining room with her gown creased and her hair in disarray. But he could never resist completely. He kissed her back, the palm of his hand pressing flat against the small of her back, his fingertips just behind her ear, holding her tightly to himself more with the strength of his will than actual force.

When she finally released his lips for air, he was dizzy - all his senses drunk with her. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily.

"Have you been smoking?" he asked queerly.

She laughed at the non sequitur. "My dinner partner," she explained, amused by his detection. "I watched him go through at least a half a dozen and that was just while we were having our apéritifs. He insisted I join him."

She raked his hair back into place from where she had disheveled it, smoothing out a furrow with her thumb. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"The smoking? Or that men make themselves fools in your presence?" he joked, the corner of his lips turning upwards.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No," he finally admitted. "It reminds me of France. We all smoked then."

They didn't talk much about the war. But when they did, it was plain to see that their experiences had altered the very substance of their being. The weight of it fusing to their souls, binding them together.

Phryne nodded in commiseration, exchanging a wistful gaze with her lover. Countless soldiers had passed through the makeshift medical tents begging for a cigarette - anything to replace the taste of blood and mortar fire in their mouths. It was with the same reason that she had chosen to abandon the habit herself.

Jack brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them, breaking into a tender smile. "Of course, no tobacco I could ever afford tasted like that."

"America's finest, I was assured. Something of a rarity," Phryne told him, her lips brushing along his throat as she spoke, needing to be closer. "A little like you. Care to taste it again?"

She didn't have to wait long for his answer. In contrast to her earlier haste, he kissed her achingly slowly - pulling away as soon as she tried to rush him, only to resume his methodical pace. When he slid his velvet tongue between her lips at last, Phryne briefly considered the viability of what she had heard Mac refer to as spontaneous human combustion.

After he firmly refused to christen Mrs. Stanley's billiard table, she took a different tack. "Jack," she entreated in a breathy voice, "We could go upstairs. No one would miss us."

It was times like these that he felt himself the luckiest man alive. Once given, Jack had never doubted Phryne's commitment to him. But after so many years spent alone, he was still coming to terms with the idea that anyone could possibly desire him this much. The feeling was made that much more surreal because it was _her_. Perhaps that was why it was easier for him to wait.

He was nothing if not patient. After all, he had once waited years to be with her - but this was not about denying himself as that had been. Quite the opposite, in fact. Jack found that he enjoyed taking his time, savoring her relentless invasion of his senses, contradicting her eagerness with deliberateness, allowing the slow burn to seep into every pore.

They would be free to do as they pleased in a few hours. Until then, they could flirt and drink and maybe even dance. Though, when she looked at him like _that_ , he had to forcibly remind himself that he had an even greater incentive to wait. He was not the least bit keen to sabotage his newly forged relationship with Mrs. Stanley by being discovered in a compromising position with her niece.

"They're already missing you, Phryne," he reasoned, peeling her hands from himself. "Please...Your Aunt..."

She sighed in resignation, "I know."

They had too lengthy a track record of interruptions to ignore the inevitable. Phryne fished in Jack's coat pocket for his handkerchief and wiped the stain of her lipstick from his mouth.

When they were presentable again, she led him into the dining room, gesturing to the empty chair to her left. The guests and their host were each being presented in turn with a delectable looking roasted quail. Mrs. Stanley announced him formally and invited him to take his seat, which he accepted with his usual politeness, apologizing for his tardiness.

"You'll have to introduce me to your friend," Jack goaded quietly as he held the chair for his companion. "I feel the need to thank him for his choice in vices."

Phryne pursed her mouth at him and lowered her voice so only he could hear. "Speaking of vices, Jack. Don't think for a moment we're through. You'll be making it up to me later."

He felt his desire spike once more at her intonation, grateful he was safely seated at the table. "I look forward to it."

The ringing voice of Prudence Stanley cut across the table. "What was that, Inspector?"

 _How did she always know?_  

 

XXXXXX

  

It wasn't often that Phryne awoke before her Inspector, but it felt like a gift whenever the occasion presented itself - despite her general attitude toward mornings. This time was no exception.

The mischievous sliver of sunlight, that usually managed to sneak past her heavy drapes in its attempt to tease her eyes open, was currently marking Jack's uncovered body like a sundial. Only instead of telling time by shadow, the beam of light marched slowly and steadily over his skin, revealing more knotted hills of muscle and bone and smooth plateaus of flesh to her eyes with every passing minute.

Her eyes raked over him, savoring his form as he lay stretched out across the deep green satin. She had known many men. Seen bodies of all shapes and sizes. Appreciated attributes, flaws and even the occasional decoration for what they were. And Jack... Well, she loved Jack's quick mind, his kind heart, the way he decided for himself what was right. But she was only human. The bare sight of him still took her breath away.

It had been quite a revelation when she had first spied him in his bathers at Queenscliff. He had always cut a fine figure, but Phryne had been unprepared for the raw hunger she had felt when confronted with the revealing glimpse of what lay beneath his many layers. The black fabric fitted snug across the breadth of his ribcage. The sculpted rounds of his shoulders beaded with saltwater. The bulge of his thighs as he bounded out of the surf. The unexpected smattering of freckles that dotted his sunkissed skin, made known to her only when he was within arm's reach.

The very thought of that afternoon could fill her with desire and she allowed it to do just that, remembering what it was like to look without being able to touch.

She often wondered how much of his sexual frustration had been channeled into long evenings at the Police Association clubrooms and early mornings swimming against the chilly currents offshore. If she were a betting woman Phryne thought, eyes followed the curve of his bicep, she would have wagered quite a bit. Though, now, his exercise routine had gotten far more interesting. 

When Jack had become a regular overnight guest at her home - and she at his flat - he had warned her that he was a light sleeper. Prone to waking at the slightest sounds or change in light or temperature. It was easily understood. He had spent many years on the front, his body attuned to his environment as a means of survival. As a policeman, too, it fit. He was constantly aware of his surroundings, inspecting, detecting, even when his mind was seemingly at rest.

Phryne didn't give it a moment's worry. What _was_ curious to her, however, was the fact that Jack never did seem to wake all that easily. Once he fell asleep, happy, secure and sated in her arms, his body was obviously content to remain so.

Part of her took great pride in the fact that he felt safe enough in her presence to let go in this most unconscious of ways. But mostly, she relished the fact that she could enjoy him while he slept. Watching his lashes titter as he dreamt. Listening to the small sighs he breathed with every exhalation. And especially, being able to explore him without witness - not even himself - with a possessiveness she didn't know she had, for as long as she could get away with it.

And so, she could barely be held responsible when her fingertips traced the shard of luminescence diagonally across his ribs to the fault lines of his stomach. Yet he remained still. He could have been a sculpture save for the warmth of his skin, the ebb and flow of his steady breath. And the thought of him completely unaware of her touch gave her an illicit thrill.

She stroked beyond the light, now, up the center of his chest. Allowing her fingers to dip into the shallow valley at the base of his sternum. She felt the familiar beat of his heart. Strong and unwavering, just like him. His steadiness grounded her and, for the same reasons, excited her. Her own pulse quickened upon recognizing those long, lingering beats and Phryne quickly decided to move on - less she abruptly end her reverie with a clumsy move.

The topography was already committed to her memory but she took immense delight in the act of reconciling the corporeal with the cerebral. She continued her ministrations, following the whims of her tingling fingers and greedy eyes, measuring her touch with precision so as not to disturb his slumber. Avoiding the most sensitive places she knew to thrill him, weighting her pressure so it wouldn't tease.

Meanwhile, her desire was building to incendiary levels as delectable impressions from the night before came back to her as she caught sight of the crumpled green gown on the floor. How those powerful arms had quaked with lust as he held her fast against him, making filthy promises in her ear. The wickedness of his tongue as it had found every vertebrae on her spine on its journey down her body. The look of strangled passion, the veins that had corded along his neck, as he came in her mouth.

So caught up was she in the recollection that she had let down her guard. Her hand had strayed, forging a path of its own accord, drifting low across his abdomen. And her mouth soon followed, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just above his navel and smiling against the feathery trail of hair below as it tickled her lips.

Phryne had not noticed the pair of smoky eyes that had slitted open, silently tracking her every movement. But when she gently laid her cheek against him to ride the rise and fall of his chest, she knew she had been discovered. No longer was his the slow, deep breath of sleep.

She looked up at him a little sheepishly, the slightest tinge of pink dusting her cheeks at having been caught unawares while using his body this way. She moved upwards to kiss him in reassurance, but he halted her with the merest shake of his head. He stared back at her with dark, glassy eyes and his gaze reignited the blaze within her. 

He was spellbound - as if he couldn't believe she might derive such pure pleasure from him. That she felt it as acutely as he did. That she, too, hungered where most he satisfied.

His voice, when he spoke, was deep and rough. "Don't stop."

She searched his face, passing her thumb faintly across his mouth as if her fingers were litmus - gauging the sincerity of his words. Finding no pretense, she sat up on her heels and brought her hands to his shoulders, smoothing down the length of his sinewy arms to his wrists, pressing his hands firmly into the bed.

He understood at once that she wished them to remain there, pinned without restraint.

Testing him, she nuzzled into his hip, letting her lips whisper across the tender skin. She did not expect him to be able to resist and so, was gratified when his fingers dug into the bedclothes instead of reaching for her.

For countless minutes Jack did his best to remain still, watching with wonder and anticipation as she explored him.

She took it in turns to lavish attention on his hot spots - his throat, his chest, the insides of his thighs - and exalt the places he had never considered remotely erotic before - the crooks of his elbows, his ankles, the tops of his feet. But he wasn't surprised to find that she could coax such feelings from him - Phryne's touch always had the means to turn him into pudding if she so desired. More than that, it was the pleasure she took in the act itself that left him breathless.

Time stood still as he bore her painstaking diligence, trying desperately to ignore his burgeoning need.

She let her hands settle into the saddle of his hips, the press of her palms against his pelvic bone extracting a rapacious moan. The warmth spread through him as she slid her hands up his torso. As she inched slowly across his skin, he had the absurd impression of her measuring his breadth in _palmus major_ before giving over to the delicious sensation of goosebumps erupting in her wake. His heated flesh contracting with her touch.

"So sensitive, Jack," she teased lightly.

Recognizing the salacious tone, he braced himself for whatever temptation was surely to come next. But it was no use. He was forced to reach up and fist his hands into his pillow as she lathed her hot tongue around his nipple until she drew a whimper from his throat. The next thing he knew, she was blowing cool air across his wet skin and his body jolted at the sensation, bucking up from the bed.

Making it worse was the knowledge that she thrilled at his reactions. He imagined her, dripping with sweetness - thinking she had him firmly in her grasp. When she repeated her maneuver on the other side, he could take it no longer.

She gasped in surprise as his arms wrapped around her, dragging her hips forward to meet his mouth. He sucked on her  swollen flesh and heard her cry out above him - the sound ringing in his ears like the blast from the seventh trumpet.

His tongue was unyielding as he plundered her - intent to leave her helpless to do anything but brace herself against the bedhead.

Over and over she sobbed his name as her legs shook with tension. He pulled her down tighter against him in response, supporting her bottom with one arm, his other hand snaking between them. Suddenly, he swiped his thumb against her and she keened above him. But he wouldn't be satisfied until she gave him everything.

He grazed his teeth gently against the tender flesh. "Come!" he demanded hoarsely before plunging his tongue into her. The swirl of his thumb was relentless in its maddening rhythm, but she was certain the sound of his voice alone would have done it. The ultimatum from her outwardly dour detective had sent a spike of heat through her that caused her whole body to grow rigid and, within seconds, the orgasm ripped through her, leaving her panting and shivering against the heavy wood.

But he wasn't through. He lifted her like a rag doll and pivoted to place her face down on the bed, wrenching the heavy duvet out of his path. She was still shuddering and he took his advantage, easily raising her arms over her head and holding them there with one hand.

Climbing over her, he half-covered her with his body. "Phyrne?" he whispered, his lips vibrating against her ear as he drew out the syllables. Receiving a small whimper in response, he trailed two fingertips down the length of her side - elongating the desperate sound like a cellist wielding a bow.

Needing more, she lifted her hips back, pushing up into the hardness of him and forcing a hiss from his throat. He slid his hand underneath her in retaliation - the heel of his palm flat against her as she oscillated between the two, driving them both into a frenzy - until she cried out again.

He hadn't expected it. He had only meant to tease her but, the shock of her second successive orgasm in so many minutes sent his arousal spiraling out of control. "Phryne? What... Oh god!" He rolled her over and released her arms, which fell down languidly against his back, her fingers just clinging to the tops of his shoulders.

"Jack," she breathed in a tortured voice, echoing his earlier plea. "Don't stop."

He looked down at the woman in his arms, equal parts angel and devil. Her eyes the color of a stormy sea, her mouth parted in longing, her chest blooming with the flush of her desire for him. What chance did he ever stand, really?

He smeared her name against her lips and kissed her deeply, cupping her cheek with a trembling hand. Whether to comfort her or anchor himself, he didn't know.

Feeling her hum contentedly into his mouth, he dragged his knuckles down her throat and along her collarbone. Then lower, teasing her nipple into a tight point, only to ignore it in favor of stroking her stomach. She arched her breast up at him imperiously. "Hmmph," he replied, disinclined to meet her insistence, "Might be too soon." A featherlight touch accompanied his taunt.

Phryne moaned in frustration but he continued to skate his fingers across her, the blunt edge of his nails lightly scratching the smooth white skin, causing the pores to ripple in gooseflesh. She bucked up against him again and he couldn't deny her any longer, taking a taut rosy nipple into his mouth. A greedy sound met his ears almost instantly while hands fisted into his hair to keep him there.

But when he felt her begin to succumb again, he released her and rose up to whisper in her ear, chuckling softly. "Always one step ahead. Wait for me, this time?"

Phryne smiled insolently, clucking her tongue at him. She curled her left leg snugly over his hip and Jack reached down instinctively to steady her. His fingers lingered subconsciously along a small patch of puckered skin, reminding her of just what she had, wrapped up in her embrace.

She nestled him closer and kissed him softly, then lifted his jaw so she could look into his face.

What they had found in each other had come as a shock - though apparently to no one but themselves. And at times in their past, remembered all too well, neither had wanted it. Too stubborn, too scared or too proud to admit that each was in need of something far beyond what could be easily acquired.

He was her equal, her anchor, her partner in love, now, as well as crime. And she was his confidante, his firebrand, his greatest passion.

They spoke no words as they held each other's gaze - unwilling to reduce the depth of what they felt into words that seemed inadequate.

It was moments like these that now gave him pause. More than watching her fling herself between a madman and his prey. More than listening to her brush off the danger in which she had managed to immerse herself. 

Because moments like these felt like perfection. And Jack Robinson was far too pragmatic a man to believe that perfection could last forever. It simply defied the laws of nature. He wished he could change them for her.

Phryne brought him back to her with a swift smack to his backside. "I'm waiting..." she chided, taking him in hand to guide into her at long last.

He grinned down at her and met her mouth in a searing kiss. Expelling his worries like so much air from his lungs. Allowing himself to drown in his insatiable need for her.

Together, as always, they found their rhythm and wrung the climaxes from their bodies. Again and again.

The Honourable Phryne Fisher always _did_ manage to find a way around the laws. Especially where Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was concerned. 

 

 

 


End file.
